The Monster in Her Chest
by SprayPaintedShoes
Summary: We all know of Harry's struggle to win Ginny's heart in his 6th year, but what about Ginny's struggle to win his? Ginny devises a plan to win Harry over and, as we all know, wherever Ginny Weasley goes, disaster is sure to follow. H/G
1. Chapter 1: Smooth Ginny, Real Smooth

**(A/N) Hello, SprayPaintedShoes here ;D**

**This is my first fanfic (hope it isn't _too_ obvious) and if you don't think i'm deluded when you've finished reading then I would appreciate a review!**

_**(This chapter has been recently reposted - I realised i'd made loads of idiotic mistakes ;D)**_

**Disclaimer: I am _obviously _not JK Rowling otherwise the story would probably be better than this. ;D**

**Enjoy!**

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_**Chapter 1 - Smooth, Ginny, real smooth.**_

Oh. My. God. She was doing it again, and I was almost certain she was doing it on purpose. In fact, I was definitely certain she was. She thought she could boss me around and treat me like a bloody house-elf just because she was screwing my brother! I really didn't know what Bill saw in her. Well, it was the boobs, I reckoned.

'Ginny, can I see you in ze kitchen please, I need to compare your 'air again.' Her voice seeped through the door to my room. Even when I was in here I couldn't escape her. The way she had been acting lately I might as well have just glued her to my bum; I might've even ended up getting more privacy that way.

I studied the ceiling intently, though there really was nothing to look at. It was white, and boring. My arms and legs were stretched out either side of me, repeating the same position that I had had found myself in rather a lot lately. Round about since the time She turned up. Figures.

I breathed in the silence that echoed around the room. She called me again. I ignored her. Nothing new. My thoughts wandered to our upcoming guest, who would be staying with us for the duration of the summer. He was arriving tomorrow, only twenty four hours from now. My body tingled at the thought. Wait – why was it tingling? I thought I was over him? I mean, I was going out with Dean. I had a different boyfriend, who I liked now. I did like Dean… didn't I?

But I couldn't get him out of my head. He filled my skull, pressing against my ears and threatening to burst through my eyes. I shook my head instinctively, as if expecting him to rattle around in there until he eventually fell out.

It didn't work.

An angry French voice sliced through my thoughts with an annoying twist. Groaning loudly, I dragged myself off the bed, straightened my crumpled T-shirt and stomped grudgingly down the stairs, tripping on the last one and stumbling straight into the kitchen.

Awaiting me was Phlegm, her long, golden hair flowing down her back like silver, framing her slender face, which was displaying a look arranged in pure disgust at my less-than-graceful entrance. Blushing furiously, I reluctantly moved forward and threw myself down onto the scrubbed wooden table, resting my chin on my hands. Phlegm continued to stare at me, her eyebrow raised.

'I called you at least a zousand times,' she said, drowning me in layers of that sickly French accent.

'Yea, I noticed,' I spat back in a flat voice. Phlegm obviously decided to copy my actions and ignore me, instead reaching for the dreaded Book for what must have been the millionth time that week. Seriously, no exaggeration.

The Book was where all of the wedding details were stored. The pages were filled with invitation ideas, fabrics and random addresses in Phlegm's neat penmanship. My mum was the one who suggested creating the book (remind me to thank her later), though the whole thing was dripping with Phlegm. She had poured herself into every detail of the wedding, making it virtually impossible for my mum or me to have any say in it, though I wasn't actually complaining.

'I 'ave been zinking a lot about ze bridesmaid dresses,' she sighed, holding The Book up against my hair and muttering under her breath. 'You see, ze pink would look wonderful on Gabrielle, as everything does, but it would clash 'orribly wiz your 'air. Ze dark blue, zat wouldn't look too bad on your 'air, zough eet iz not appropriate for ze summer. I am zinking gold for ze dresses, we can coordinate it wiz ze flowers…'

She continued to prattle on, moving into French every so often whilst holding the book up to my fiery red head and expecting me to care about her stupid wedding. I wasn't even listening, as a certain black haired fiend had crept back into my mind. Damn him.

'Ginny, are you even listening to me?' Phlegm's voice penetrated my thoughts, bursting them like a soap bubble.

'Nope.'

'Ginny! J'ai besoin de tu m'aider! Tu es trop parreseuse!' I bit back the mad desire to laugh at her rapid and angry French, which sounded alien to me. she could have been speaking troll for all I knew. She continued to ramble on to herself, flinging back the pages of the book desperately and pulling on frayed strands of fabric until Hermione entered the kitchen, acting as a distraction.

I do love Hermione.

I jumped up, snatching the opportunity to get away from Phlegm.

'Hermione!' I said loudly. She gave a startled smile, glancing at Phlegm before realisation set in.

'Ginny, your mum needs you to clean your room upstairs because of the – thing…' she trailed off at the end, her eyebrow raised. Hermione may be a genius, but yea, isn't so good at the whole excuse-making thing. It didn't seem to matter though, as Phlegm was still immersed in her perfect wedding. I took Hermione's arm and dragged her up the stairs, bursting into my room to let out a shout of fury and frustration at Phlegm.

'Have you heard the way she speaks to me?!' I gasped, flinging myself down onto my bed in my usual way, Hermione settling herself on my desk.

'And all these wedding plans, they're ridiculous! She's so bothered about every little detail, and it's killing me! If I have to look at one more corsage or bridesmaid dress then I will personally throw myself off the astronomy tower and bloody hell, I'm taking her with me - '

I continued to rant and rave about Phlegm, and when I get started, trust me – I get started. I tend to go off the subject slightly too, which sometimes results in tricky consequences. Like now.

' - and I can't stand the fact that she's going to be part of my family, and this is all really hard, especially with Harry coming to stay tomorrow, and I'm finding it even harder to relax around him without turning into a bubbling lump of jelly because he continues to look more bloody handsome every time I see him, which is so bloody annoying because I'm not _meant_ to like him. I've got a new boyfriend! I've got Dean! But I want Harry, Hermione! He's such a bloody GIT!'

I stopped, gasping for the breath that I'd momentarily forgotten to take during my frustration and let out another shout of fury, sitting myself up to look at Hermione. She had a smug sort of smile on her face. That's when I realised what I'd said. You know, I really need to learn to keep my mouth shut. Hermione continued to smile, her brown hair bouncing around her shoulders and that familiar 'all-knowing' look visible on her face. Ugh, I hated it when she smiled like that. Another growl of fury left my mouth, making me look like some sort of crazed ginger cat. Oh god, I looked like bloody Crookshanks.

'Stop smiling at me like that, Hermione,' I grumbled moodily after a pause. I wasn't in the mood for her smart-talk at the moment. I mean, she's my best friend and everything, but sometimes she can be annoying. She opened her mouth but continued to beam.

'I'm sorry Ginny, but I'm smiling because I _knew_ that you still liked Harry. I knew you were lying last year when you told me that you were 'over' him. You were not over him Ginny, I could tell.'

She had a triumphant sort of smile on her face, the same she wore often when she decided to swallow a textbook.

'How did you know?'

'Just did.'

I repeat - Hermione is a genius. She seems to know everything, except how to lie, of course. And for some reason, she didn't notice that my idiot of a brother was actually in love with her, or the fact that she was in love with him. Strange how that works, huh?

'But Hermione, when I told you I was 'over' him I wasn't telling a complete lie. I was over that stupid little school-girl crush on him, but now… Hermione, what am I going to do?!' I whined desperately, throwing my back down onto the bed once more and pushing all thoughts of Ron and Hermione out of my head for the time being, we could assess that later. Hermione seemed to take pity on me, for she raised herself from the desk and perched on the bed next to me.

'Do you really like him, Ginny?'

She could have asked me any question, any question at all, but she _had_ to ask that one. The one I really didn't know the answer to. The way I acted around him probably meant I did like him, but my mind really didn't want to like him, because it was too bloody hard! I was just 'Ron's little sister' to him. I would never be anything more than that, which really sucked. Oh yea, and I was going out with _Dean_. I kept forgetting about that part.

Hermione's face showed that she still wanted an answer, an answer that I had no chance of giving. Instead, I gave yet another frustrated grumble and sat up.

'Hermione, to him I'm just his 'best friend's little sister'. Nothing more than that. Even if I did like him – which I am not saying I do – it wouldn't work.'

I sat up, crossing my legs in front of me and resting my chin in my hands.

'Oh yea – and I'm going out with Dean.'

Why did I keep forgetting that?

'So… do you _like_ Dean?' she asked.

Merlin, Hermione seemed to be rolling in awkward questions today. I did like Dean, I _did._ But if I really did, why didn't I feel the same way around him as I did around Harry? I cared for Dean, I suppose, but I was his _girlfriend_. I was meant to like him like a girlfriend would, and to be frank, I didn't think I did. Crap.

When I didn't answer, Hermione, being the genius she was, apparently guessed what I was thinking anyway. She sighed, mimicking my position.

'Well, Ginny. If you _did_ want Harry to think of you in that way - which I'm not saying you do - then to be honest, the most you can do is keep treating him like one of your friends. If Harry's anything like Ron, an idiot, then he wont know what he wants until it's right in front of him.'

She was right; I knew she was right, especially about the Ron being an idiot part. Hermione was always right. Remind me to bake a pie for her, or something. I wonder what her favourite flavour is.

Ginny! Stop going off the subject! Harry, remember!

I'd have to wait. Wait for Harry to open his bloody gorgeous eyes, and in the meantime, make sure that I was definitely there as one of his friends when he did. Which meant stop thinking about how absolutely gorgeous he was, or about how much I would kill to be his girlfriend, or about how much I desperately wanted to run my fingers through that unruly mop of hair, or about –

Ginny - stop!

The conversation with me and Hermione wandered onto various subjects, though my mind was elsewhere, to some places it really _shouldn't_ have been. Eventually, I was needed again by Phlegm, and I spent the rest of my day was spent collapsed on the kitchen table enduring monotonous hours filled with frills, flowers and French.

By half past nine, I was once again in my traditional position, lying spread-eagled on my bed. Tomorrow he was coming. Tomorrow I would initiate 'Operation get Harry to notice me and stop thinking of me as just his best friends little sister by treating him more like a friend, therefore resulting in him becoming my boyfriend and me being excruciatingly happy'.' (I really needed to think of a shorter operation name; it was getting quite annoying having to think it over in my head every time I thought of him, which happened to be a lot.)

I rolled over to the side of the bed, resting my head on my hand, my elbow propped up on my pillow. I stared at the poster of Gwenog Jones, captain of the Holyhead Harpies. She would know what to do if she was in my position, though she never would be in my position. She was famous. I surveyed the rest of my room, sighing deeply. It was small, but being the last of seven children made it difficult for me to nab the best spot. It was either this room or my father's shed, so yea, I chose this room. At least my room didn't smell of chickens and cheese, which the shed did.

He had never been in my room; I'd never thought to invite him in. I'd have to invite him in sometime, and then through some spontaneous action, our lips would meet and someone would set fireworks off in the garden and he'd realise his undying love for me…

But knowing my luck, Ron would probably interrupt us or something.

If he did, I'd cry though. Seriously, I would. And I never cry.

But then he would wrap his arms around me, be my shoulder to cry on, tell my brother he was an effing prat and then he'd kiss me again, and we'd kiss until the sun set and my lips fell off…

Damn. I was thinking of him again. Why didn't I think of Dean this much? I hardly ever thought of Dean, actually, unless Harry was involved in the equation.

Damn, thinking of Harry again. Think of Dean.

'Dean,' I said aloud, as if expecting this to help, which it didn't really.

'Dean. Dean, Dean, Dean.'

There wasn't really much to think about when thinking about Dean. He was a nice boy, funny sometimes and I suppose he was good-looking. But not as much as Harry…

Shit. I wasn't mean to be thinking of Harry again.

'Harry.' The name sounded so good. It sort of… rolled off the tongue.

'Harry,' I whispered again. 'Harry, Harry, Harry.'

My door opened, giving me such a fright that I started, rolling sideways right off my bed and landing with a thud face down on the carpet.

Smooth, Ginny, real smooth.

'Ginny?' came my mothers worried voice from the doorway. I peeled myself off the carpet and stood up hastily, turning to face my mother, who looked anxious. She was only slightly taller than me, and a bit plumper I must say, but her bright red hair was the same as mine, the same colour as my face was at that moment in time though mine was dulled by the bright blush on my face. And her eyes were the same, deep chestnut as mine; I guess I inherited them from her.

'Are you all right? What were you doing, falling off your bed?'

'I didn't do it on purpose,' I mumbled angrily, feeling my cheeks reddening even more so, making my skin blend in with my hair. Did she actually think I lay on my bed and rolled off for the fun of it? I may be sad, but come on, give me some dignity.

'You just scared me.'

'Who were you talking to?' she asked, peering round the room as if expecting someone to pop out of the wardrobe wearing one of those muggle kilts and singing the Bulgarian national anthem.

'Myself.'

'Oh…' her eyebrows were raised in suspicion. She stared at me intently for a couple of seconds, before giving up, obviously too tired to delve into her daughter's twisted mind. 'Right, well, your father and I are having an early night. Don't you go staying up too late; you look like you had a tiring day.'

'Don't worry mum, I won't. Night.'

She smiled at me, but something was off about that smile. It seemed sort of… pitying. Did she know something was up? I wouldn't doubt it; she seemed to know everything about us. Except my shoe size… I swear every pair of shoes I own either squeeze my toes like jelly or make me look like some freakish clown with oversized footwear. The hair doesn't help with the clown image, either.

'Good night, Ginny.'

She closed the door softly behind herself, and I dropped onto the bed once more. I didn't feel like sleeping, as my mind was too full of him, so instead I lay there, listening to the chickens rustling around in the coop and hoping to god that tomorrow wouldn't bring too much disaster.

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**A/N: So, what did you think?**

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	2. Chapter 2: Fall Count Five

**A/N: Okay, before you all start throwing pies at me, _I CAN EXPLAIN _the extremely long wait, owing to the fact that I had to rewrite it twice!**

**First time, this _idiot _deleted the chapter when cleaning out her my documents. (I KNOW!**)

**Second, my computer chose the most convenient of times to BREAK so I had to rewrite it on my mothers laptop.**

**And then owing to the _ridiculous _mistakes I made in the last chapter, I got it beta'd. I really messed my tenses up.**

**But your wait is up! Here it is!**

**_Disclaimer: Bla bla bla I don't own Harry Potter bla bla._**

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**Chapter 2 – Fall Count Five**

Oh Merlin. Today.

Today.

What was happening today, I hear you ask? Well I'll tell you what was happening today. _He_ was coming. You know, _He,_ as in my future husband. Today was the day I would initiate 'Operation get Harry to notice me and stop thinking of me as just his best friend's little sister by treating him more like a friend, therefore resulting in him becoming my boyfriend and me being excruciatingly happy'. I was seated at the kitchen table, staring intently at the front door, where he should be walking through any time soon, as if boring holes in it with my eyes would speed up the process.

'Toast, Ginny?'

I accepted my mother's offer with a nod, having temporarily lost the use of my voice, and a plate of toast was pushed in front of me. I picked up my toast and began to steadily butter it, absorbed in my thoughts of him; this distraction resulted in a rather buttery breakfast.

'Fleur wants to go over more wedding details today,' my mother announced while I took a bite out of my soggy toast, throwing it back down instantly with a grimace. Now don't get me wrong, I'm no butter-racist, but when it's dripping of the piece of food in question, it's just disgusting.

'She wants you to help her with them,' she added hastily, obviously thinking hoping that the quicker she said it, the calmer the reaction would be. She obviously didn't know me well enough.

'What? Why?!'

I slammed my fist down onto the wooden table, biting back a grimace as pain shot through my arm. I really shouldn't have done that, but still, I was fuming. If I had to work on this sodding wedding all day, then it meant I would have absolutely no time to initiate 'Operation get Harry to notice me and stop thinking of me as just his best friend's little sister by treating him more like a friend, therefore resulting in him becoming my boyfriend and me being excruciatingly happy', and that just wasn't fair! I'd spent the whole of last night planning clever comebacks and conversation topics to help me, as well! – time I could have used for sleeping!

'Because,' my mother shot back strongly, 'Fleur specifically wants you to be a big part of this wedding. You are Bill's favourite sister, after all!' She was stirring the beans so vigorously that they were slopping over the side of the pan, and a steady trickle was already making its way down the cooker. Mm, how lovely.

'I'm his _only_ sister!' I cried incredulously. 'And I'm _already_ a part of this wedding! I'm a bloody bridesmaid, aren't I?'

My mothers face grew red, and she opened her mouth to scold me for my language, but I steamrolled on. Oh yea, I was pissed off.

'Just because I'm a bridesmaid doesn't mean I have to help decide every little aspect of this wedding. Phlegm doesn't even ask me for my opinion; she just needs someone there to boss around. And plus, I don't even _want_ to be a part of this wedding!'

I knew this was the wrong thing to say the minute it left my lips, and it earned me one of Mrs Weasley's famous Lengthy 'n' Loud Lectures. I couldn't really blame her, though, I knew I was overreacting. I was just so annoyed, for two reasons really. One, the whole operation was being held up and destroyed, all because Phlegm needed someone there by her side all day, every day to make her feel sodding important, and that job had been passed down to me (aren't I lucky, eh?) since Gabrielle was still in France. Two, it was a whole day spent with the Queen _Bitch_ of Bitchland. I supposed I could just pretend to be ill, and then I could spend the whole day relaxing in bed while Harry brought me iced water and confessed his undying love for me as I lay, suffering from a fatal cold. Yea, that would work. I jumped up, making for the fireplace, ready to cook up an imaginary fever when that sickly, French accent I'd come to hate floated through the open kitchen door. Damn, too late.

'Ginny! Oh Ginny, where are you?'

I swore under my breath, throwing myself down on the table again and pushing away the rest of my breakfast.

Phlegm appeared in the doorway, the usual vision of bloody perfection. Her long, golden hair was flowing freely down her back, and she seemed to glow. When I caught her eye, she pressed her hands to her heart, and then outstretched them to me as if she hadn't seen me for years. What a blooming drama-queen.

'Ginny! I am so glad to see you! I zought you would be staying in ze bed all day!'

She can't even speak properly. She needs to get a bloody English dictionary and whack herself repeatedly over the head with it. Better yet, I'll do it for her.

'We 'av so much to do, Ginny! I zink, however, zat I have decided what colour ze bridesmaids dresses will be, and ze flower choice has been narrowed down to trois. As for ze tablecover, we will be deciding zat today-'

'Fleur,' I interrupted. 'I'm sorry, I have some things to do today, and I can't help you with the table_cloth_ choice.'

'What zings?' she questioned, her eyebrows raised.

'Just - things,' I replied through gritted teeth, desperately trying to keep the lid on the furious bomb that was just waiting to explode. 'So I'm _sorry_, but you'll have to do it by yourself, okay? Shouldn't be too hard.'

Silence. Silence for a split second as my worst enemies face contorted with rage, before she started babbling away so furiously that I couldn't even understand a word she was saying.

''Ow can you refuse to 'elp me! As my bridesmaid I 'oped you would take a moment out of your _busy_ life-'

And so the lecturing went on.

'- to at least 'elp me choose some table decorations! Do you expect me to plan zis wedding unaided? My only ozzer bridesmaid is in France-'

And on.

'- iv if you 'ad forgot! Poor Gabrielle so wanted to 'elp wiz zis wedding, but she is too young to fly over to Engerland, now, just zink how selfish you are being-'

And on.

'- when I av tried to involve you in zis wedding, because I don't want you to av to suffer zat! I av tried to 'elp you Ginny, but do you return ze favour! Non! Non, tu ne fais pas! Tu est une égoïste, petite-'

And on. I sat there, with a slightly shocked look on my face. I only told her I couldn't help, and she was blowing up on me! Maybe she was overly hormonal, maybe it was 'her time of the month' if you get my gist.

Hermione and Ron had appeared in the midst of all these lectures, Hermione looking at the raving woman with a worried expression, Ron just looking amused. Well, he looked amused at first, and then he got that distant, weird look in his eye that he gets all the time around Phlegm. It's seriously sick, he fancies his future sister-in-law. The sick pervert.

Finally, when Phlegm seemed to had run out of spit, my mother, who had been watching Phelgm absentmindedly, went back to her cooking station to make Hermione and El Sicko their breakfasts, and Phlegm went back to The Book. Eugh, I shiver at the thought.

Ron finished his breakfast first, unsurprisingly, and burped appreciatively, earning himself four disgusted looks from the other inhabitants of the kitchen.

'Any more eggs, Mum?' he asked, eyeing up the sizzling frying pan my mother was tending to. Phlegm was loudly deciding which napkins to use for the wedding.

'Gold or silver, Ginny?'

I ignored her. Who cared what colour the sodding napkins are? You wipe your mouth on 'em then and chuck 'em in the bin, end of. The guests weren't going to sit there through the whole reception admiring the napkins and then take them home to frame. But Phlegm still spent ten minutes solid staring intently at each of them in term. That woman had some _serious_ issues.

'Ron, you've only just finished the two eggs you had there!' my mother chided, and when Ron's eyes didn't flicker from the frying pan, my mother made flapping motions with her arms, as if trying to swat away an annoying fly. 'No Ronald, no! This food is for Harry, he does look peaky the poor thing, I swear those muggles of his don't feed him. I was going to give it him when he woke up, I wanted to let him sleep,' she called helplessly after Hermione and El Sicko, who had jumped up at the first mention of their best friend.

Wait – what?!

Harry was here? In this house? Now?!

AND NOBODY TOLD ME?!

I jumped up hastily, loosing my balance slightly and tripping over my chair. Merlin Ginny, were you born this stupid or did you have to practice? Flattening my hair and clothes subconsciously, I made towards to stairs, when a high pitched trill stopped me.

'Oh Ginny, were are you going? We 'ave work to do!'

I whipped around exasperatedly. When would this blooming bimbo listen?

'I'm going upstairs, Fleur. I've told you, I can't help you.'

I turned once more and took another step, but her voice stopped me again. Crap, if only I had longer legs I would have got there by now. Damn my stubby body.

'But you must 'elp me!'

Count to ten, Ginny, count to ten. My hand was inching towards my wand. One word, one word and she'd be lying on the floor with bats attacking her everywhere. My mind was whispering: go on Ginny, do it. Do it! Be a man! Not literally obviously, because then that would put a real problem on the operation. Unless Harry was into that sort of thing. I've always suspected my brother, but Harry? No, he couldn't be.

Ginny! Focus! Phlegm!

I turned around, and what happened next was kind of a blur. I shouted a lot, Phlegm shouted a lot, my mother shouted a lot, I shouted a bit more just for good measure, and the next thing I knew I was at the top of the stairs, fuming. Wow.

I banged the door to the first room on the landing open, realised Hermione wasn't in it, and so proceeded to try every other room until I got to the second floor.

'He can't be worse than Umbridge, can he?'

The voice floated through an open door and, feeling the need to vent to someone, I slouched in moodily.

'I know someone who's worse than Umbridge.'

I looked up, and realised from the numerous cardboard boxes, that I was in Forge's room (Forge being both Fred and George, it's just easier to say you know?). Ron had his lazy arse on one of the cardboard boxes and Hermione was sitting on one of the vacant beds. No, wait – on one of the _occupied_ beds. There, sitting right in front of me on the bed, was _Him_. Harry.

Crap.

Bugger.

Crap, Bugger, Crap.

I had completely forgotten about Harry in my frustration towards Phlegm. And plus, Harry happened to look absolutely _gorgeous_ with his hair all tousled from him sleep, that signature grin on his face, and he was wearing _pyjamas. _Merlin, it was times like these I wished Harry slept naked.

Now, when most people are faced with situations like this, they act on their first instincts. These were my first instincts:

1) Run from the room waving my arms over my head and screaming like a manic banshee.

2) Pounce on Harry and snog him senseless.

3) A very lengthy session of number two, and then a speedy number one.

Luckily for me, my past has taught me _never_ to act on my instincts, so, realising I must have been staring at Harry like a fat kid in a sweet shop, I quickly regained my 'cool' composure.

'What's up with you?' the lazy arsed red-head asked. (That's Ron, by the way.)

What was wrong, Ronald? The very boy that made me go weak at the knees was sitting in front of me, obviously unaware that he was making my heart beat at triple the normal rate (sorry for sounding like a cheesy 1970's love song) and all that I'd done to help along 'Operation get Harry to notice me and stop thinking of me as just his best friends little sister by treating him more like a friend, therefore resulting in him becoming my boyfriend and me being excruciatingly happy' was to storm into the room like a stupid little toddler having a tantrum. Well bloody done, Ginny.

Obviously though, I couldn't exactly tell Ron that, so I told him about my other problem. To be precise, my _French_ problem.

'It's _her_. She's driving me mad,' I said, exasperated. Determined, I looked towards Hermione when she spoke, but the fact that Harry was in the room made my knees weak. Knowing that the risk of me collapsing any minute now was high, I gratefully sank down onto the end of Harry's bed.

As I replied to Hermione, I was painfully aware of how close to Harry's feet I was, and how oddly nervous they were making me feel. I didn't normally have foot fetishes; it was just Harry's feet that make made me tingly. I wondered what his toes are were like… not long and gangly like Ron's (trust me, I'd seen them, and they were not pretty). They'd be short, and cute, and maybe a little podgy, I didn't know.

It was official – I needed some serious help.

'Can't you two lay off her for five seconds?'

Ron wanted me to lay off Phlegm? He didn't even know how much of a bitch Phlegm was because every time she opened her mouth Ron was sitting there drooling his head off. I didn't even know what it was about her that was so appealing to men. I mean yea, she was beautiful, but she was also a complete git!

'Oh, that's right, defend her,' I snapped, turning on Ron and letting all of my anger towards Phlegm channel to him. 'We all know you can't get enough of her.'

I glanced at Harry, who looked confused. His brow was furrowed slightly as he looked at the three of us in turn. He looked so adorable when he was confused. He opened his mouth to speak, I held my breath for some strange reason, he started –

And then, of course, _she_ walked in. _She_ destroyed everything.

Well-bloody-done, Phlegm!

What's more, Phlegm's entrance made Harry yank the bedcovers up to his chin, and whilst covering the view of Harry's chest through his shirt, sent me crashing to the floor for the second time in two days. Peeling myself off the floor, my face red as my hair, I swore under my breath and sat up.

Oh Ginny, you are too _cool_. Harry is _definitely _going to want to go out with you know.

Note the sarcasm.

''Arry!' she said, her voice no longer the high pitched squeal it usually was, but a throaty kind of growl. How disgusting, she was trying to seduce her future-husband's-little-brother's-best-friend.

'Eet 'as been to long!'

She swept into the room in such a needlessly dramatic way that I had to stifle a snort of laughter. My mother was revealed bobbing along behind Phlegm, sporting one of her infamous Mrs Weasley glares that most members of the family had learnt to avoid.

Phlegm set the breakfast-laden tray across Harry's knees, though I knew it was just a pathetic excuse to kiss him on both his cheeks. And don't even bother telling me it's how the French 'greet' each other, I'm sure greeting Harry was the last thing on Phlegm's mind.

Wait – why was Harry blushing?

Harry wasn't meant to be blushing when Phlegm kissed him! He was meant to be throwing up! Or hexing Phlegm to oblivion for kissing him when he was so blatantly in love with me!

Anything, just not blushing!

Phlegm was looking reproachfully at my mother, who said, rather flatly, 'We hadn't got round to telling him yet.'

Making a scene of whacking my mother in the face with her sheet of golden blonde hair as she turned around, Phlegm said, rather loudly, 'Bill and I are going to be married!'

Really, Phlegm? I never knew! It's not like you haven't been warbling on about it for the last two weeks solid!

I looked determinately out of the window when Phlegm took Harry's silence as an excuse to kiss his cheeks again, for fear that I might _throw up_.

Finally, after much more throaty French that I refused to listen to, Phlegm turned and glided out of the door.

Good riddance!

My mother mumbled something incoherent that I was pretty sure was an insult.

'Mum hates her,' I announced, proving to Ron that I wasn't the only one who thought Phlegm should go die in hell. And trying to signal to Harry that he should hate Phlegm too. How my mother's feelings about hating Phlegm should encourage Harry to feel the same way I had no idea; it seemed like a good idea at the time, anyway.

My mother protested in an angry whisper, and went on to explain why the wedding was a stupid idea, but I knew Mum was just trying to make excuses for herself. She hated Phlegm; it was obvious from the looks mum constantly gave her. I knew she'd rather have Bill die alone than know that he was going to marry something like _that_.

The Phlegm bitching session continued, with my mother scolding me for calling Phlegm Phlegm. What else was I meant to call her? Queen Bitch? Because that was fine with me.

The door shut behind my mother, and it wasn't long until the conversation strayed once again to Phlegm/Queen Bitch. Ron, being the git he was, started insulting Tonks when she was brought into the conversation. I would _much_ rather Bill married Tonks. She was funny, she was kind, and she would fit in with the Weasley family a lot better than that excuse for a human downstairs.

'She's a damn sight nicer than Phlegm!' I said angrily. Harry's shuffled his position around, his feet grazing my back ever so slightly as he did so. I froze, breathing heavily. How was it, that the slightest touch made me tense up like… like… well, like an idiot? I swore that Harry had some kind of magical power that he used just to _torture_ me.

'And she's more intelligent! She's an Auror!' said Hermione, who had moved away from Ron and was standing in the corner. I didn't blame her: stay near too Ron for too long and the smell gets completely ridiculous. Never mind El Sicko, El-bloody-Stinko.

'Fleur's not stupid, she was good enough to enter the Triwizard Tournament,' Harry replied. Why was he defending her?! Don't tell me he'd fallen under the same spell that Ron did. Harry was meant to have more will power than that! And anyway, he was way too good for Phlegm. Ten times too good. A thousand times too good. A million times too good. I could go on for hours here, I really could.

'I suppose you like the way Phlegm says "'Arry", do you?' I asked scornfully. I didn't mean to be that mean, but I was just so ticked off that Harry liked Phlegm and not me. How come the mean ones get all the good things? Maybe I should start being more mean. Yea, I could do that. Step on a couple of first year's toes and tell Sir Cadogen what I _really_ think of him!

I stayed out of the rest of the conversation generally, my mind whirring up ways to be meaner. And more ways to get Harry to like me. Harry liked girls like Cho Chang and Phlegm Delabitch, the types of girls I hated. No, no, the types of girls I _despised_. If getting Harry to like me meant that I had to pile on the makeup like there was no tomorrow, needlessly giggle all the time when there was blatantly nothing to laugh at and be dressed in a skirt that looked it belonged to a five year old then I refused. Well, I refused to get Harry to like me _that_ way. I would use my own methods, thank you very much.

Oh, this was going to be fun. I'd have to perfect my evil grin soon. I had a feeling I'd be needing it.

My mothers head appeared around the door, whispering my name and breaking me out of my plotting trance.

'Come downstairs and help me with the lunch.'

'I'm talking to these lot!' I said, outraged. It wasn't really true, they'd been talking while I mused, but the longer I was in Harry's company, the more he noticed me, right? But no, my mother wanted to wreck the whole plan by dragging me away to butter bread. Did she want Harry to marry Phlegm? Or _Cho_? And anyway, I think we established this at breakfast: Ginny, plus butter, plus whole head full of thoughts, equals: DISTASTER.

'Now!' she snapped and hurried back downstairs.

'She only wants me there so she doesn't have to be alone with Phlegm!' I complained. Well it was true, if I was there, Phlegm would channel all her annoyingness at me rather than mum. She'd been doing it all bloody holiday.

I managed to struggle off the bed, which was rather difficult, as it was nearly at floor level. My heart panged at the separation from me and Harry's perfectly, chubby toes. How I will miss thee.

I made for the door, catching my foot on the leg of the bed and tripping slightly, throwing my arms into the air to try and steady myself while my hair whipped stupidly around my face. My face flooded again, and thinking fast, I turned the stumble into a prance and left the room quickly, hoping they would actually believe I was doing an imitation of Phlegm.

'You lot had better come down quickly, too,' I said as I crossed the threshold, desperately trying to distract them from my Tonks-like behaviour. I wasn't normally this much of a klutz, it was just lately that I had started falling over continuously. That was now five times in the last two days I'd fallen over, including my stumble into the kitchen yesterday morning and when I nearly went crashing to the floor at breakfast. Seriously, what was wrong with me?!

Don't answer that.

When I exited the room, I leant back on the closed door, and then, realising that someone could open it at any time and bring my Fall Count up to six, I shifted and leant on the wall instead, putting my face in my hands.

I had only spent about half an hour with Harry, and already 'Operation get Harry to notice me and stop thinking of me as just his best friend's little sister by treating him more like a friend, therefore resulting in him becoming my boyfriend and me being excruciatingly happy' was not going well at all.

I took a deep breath and straightened up tall.

Right, Ginny Weasley. You had better get your act together girl, or you'd be spending the next seventy years of your life living alone with no one but your twelve cats for company.

Tomorrow, tomorrow was when the _real_ work was going to start.

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**A/N: I know this chapter is really _weird_ but I got bored of rewriting it in the end and it changed _drastically_. **

**Someone in a review for the last chapter said they wanted Ginny to have more 'feelings', so next chapter Ginny is going _deep maann_.**

**And if anyone has any more nicknames for Phlegm, tell me them, i wasn't feeling particuarly creative when I wrote this chapter.**

**I really would appreciate a review just to tell me what you think, and whether to continue with this story or not bother. So if you want updates, review!**

**Thank you thank you everyone for your reviews on the last chapter! They made me feel all fuzzy inside. ;D**

**And I promise, I _will_ update as soon as I can, what with school (;l) and all that. ;D**

** Thank you for reading!**

_**And thank you to my beta, Leah ;D**_


	3. Chapter 3: No, Ron, Just No

**A/N****: I feel like a broken record saying this, but again I am _so sorry_ for the long update wait.**

**I had a double whammy of school work and writers block plus one heck of a cold.**

**So I stayed in 'ill' one day and wrote this chapter. ;**

**_Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or any of it's characters - J.K. Rowling does. _**

**If your not too annoyed at me to read this, then enjoyyy. ;D**

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Chapter 3 – No, Ron. Just No.

I strolled through the grounds of Hogwarts, breathing in the sweet smell of honeysuckle and summer evenings. The lake was bathed in moonlight, making it shimmer like diamonds. As I continued my stroll along the forest boarder, I sensed a presence, and turned to see a person standing in my wake. The person moved forward, and when a strip of moonlight between the trees reached his face, it revealed dazzling green eyes and jet black hair. Harry.

Without speaking, he closed the large gap between us. I tilted my head upwards, letting myself sink into his gaze, and my heart stopped when he spoke: 'I've always loved you, Ginny Weasley.'

I opened my mouth to reply, but closed it once more when he began to breathe my name.

'Ginny.'

He raised his hand to cup my cheek, moving my face closer to his in the process.

'Ginny.'

My hand grasped his as my eyes fell to his lips, which were only inches away from mine. He moved closer still, and I felt my eyelids close.

'Ginny.'

I could almost feel his lips grazing mine as our feet left the ground, and everything else ceased to exist...

'GINNY!'

My eyes were forced open as light flooded my room. I felt my duvet being dragged off the bed. Lunging for it, I scrabbled to force it back over my head when my mother's voice bellowed in my ear, causing me to wince and the blanket to slip through my fingers.

'GINNY! Get downstairs now and have your breakfast! I have been calling you for the last ten minutes. You're getting more and more like your brothers every day!'

I sat up in bed as the door slammed shut, my tousled hair sticking up on end and the realisation that I had unfortunately been dreaming washing over me.

Damn it.

'Hermione, I'm telling you, getting an 'E' in DADA isn't the end of the world!'

'I didn't _say_ that, Ron!' Hermione snapped back. 'I was just saying that if I wanted to pursue a career in Defence Against the Dark Arts then –'

'You'll have an 'E' in your OWL's! Merlin, Hermione, you've still got your NEWT's to get an 'O'!'

'I know, Ron, I _just_ wanted an 'O' in Defence because then it would mean –'

'You had twelve straight 'O's like Little-Miss-Perfect. I didn't get any 'O's, what does that make me? A flobberworm?'

And so the bickering continued. The pair had been at it since I had trudged downstairs for breakfast after being so rudely awoken by my mother.

The dream – well, that was a different story. It seemed so vivid, so real – but obviously, in Ginny Weasley's life nothing like that is ever real. In Ginny Weasley's life, you get the real-life, buck-toothed, wimpy twerps kissing you (cough – Michael Corner), and the wonderful Knights-In-Shining-Armour only in dreams.

The dream was still rattling round in my head, making it spin horribly, and my lips were still tingling as if Harry's really had brushed across them. But the satisfaction at the dream was replaced with confusion - Harry or Dean?

I knew that I _wanted_ Harry, I had always _wanted_ Harry. But at that moment, I _had_ Dean. And part of me did want to keep Dean, the sweet, funny boy who spent the whole of my fourth year flirting with me, but then the other part was dragging me towards Harry. Since when did my body have two disagreeing parts?

I chanced a glance at my Knight-In-Shining-Armour through my eyelashes whilst munching on a piece of toast, sparingly buttered this time. His hair was a mess of dark locks, as usual, and his glasses were slightly lopsided on his face. I loved his glasses. Despite the fact that he hadn't bothered to change the round, babyish frames since he was eleven, they still made him look adorable.

Everything made him look bloody adorable.

... Swoon.

'Pass the sausages,' I sighed, still gazing wide-eyed at Harry while holding out my empty hand for the plate of sausages that lay next to Ron. My hand remained empty.

'Pass the sausages,' I repeated. Still, no sausages. Ron and Hermione were arguing too loudly to hear my now angry requests, Ron waving his bacon speared fork energetically, spraying crumbs everywhere. I was too lazy to get up and walk halfway round the table to retrieve them myself, so I continued to yell.

'Will SOMEONE please pass me the bloody sausages?' I demanded, my voice grazing a scream. But no – Ignore Ginny. She doesn't need to be fed. She doesn't need food. She can just go without food until she shrivels up into nothingness. Then you'll be sorry!

'OI!' I yelled. Silence. Three pairs of eyes snapped in my direction. _Finally_.

'Ron, pass the sausages,' I said simply, holding out my hand once more. 'And for Merlin's sake, stop the arguing.'

The two seemed to have run out of steam anyway, especially after my exclamation, so Ron went back to his bacon and Hermione to her book.

'So,' I continued after a mouthful of sausage, 'What are we going to do today?'

There was a short moment of pondering in which everyone racked their brains for ideas that didn't include adults, money, or too much hard work.

'Quidditch?' Harry suggested. Hermione groaned, and I had to stifle a laugh by shoving another sausage in my mouth. A pygmy puff had more experience with a broomstick than Hermione did. Flying was one of the few things Hermione was actually _terrible _at. So, I guessed that one was out.

'Chess?' Ron said, his mouth so full of beans that I was surprised he managed to open it. Chess? That was the best Ron could think of? Chess? I looked at him with a serious look on my face, shaking my head flatly.

'No, Ron. Just no.'

'We could walk down to the village?' Hermione piped in, closing her book after carefully cornering the page. That wasn't such a bad idea, but again, our plan was foiled.

'I can't,' Harry grumbled. 'I promised Dumbledore I would stay around the Burrow while I'm here.' He looked apologetic, and I opened my mouth to tell him he was forgiven, but the great big prat with the same colour hair as me interrupted.

'Well, you can just stay here then, can't you?' This earned Ron three murderous looks, causing him to rush on nervously. 'Sorry, sorry! Look, I was on messing. Don't go overreacting.'

My hand tightened around my wand. Ron obviously noticed, and changed the subject abruptly. 'Why don't we go down to the lake?'

Lake?

My thoughts were echoed out loud twice around the table. Ron sighed exasperatedly, looking at me.

'You know, Ginny, the one we found at the beginning of last year. Only it was too cold to go in it, and then we went to Grimmuald Place anyway.'

Harry winced slightly.

I delved deep into my memory. Lake... lake... lake – Oh! That lake!

'The one behind the orchard?' I asked.

'No, Ginny, the one in the attic,' Ron replied sarcastically. '_Yes_ the one behind the orchard!'

All right, all right, there was no need to get all moody on me!

Ron began to tell Harry and Hermione the story of how we found the lake, and I sat back to reminisce. About the second day of the summer holiday, Ron had decided to steal a girly notepad of mine, complete with fluff and all, that my Great-Auntie Muriel had bought for my birthday. I had never even touched it, yet Ron, being the idiot that he is, mistook it for my 'secret diary' and then ran around the orchard with it held over his head for half an hour, while I chased him. I don't actually know why I didn't just ignore him.

And then stupid Ron had run into a load of willow trees while laughing at me, gotten tangled in the branches, tripped and fallen headfirst with a loud splash into what we later discovered was a lake.

I hadn't been able to stop laughing for two whole hours at the sight of him floating, face down in the water, covered in tangled reeds, stopping only when my mother had forced me to take a calming draught.

Good times, gooood times.

Ron obviously told the story differently, making himself sound like a brave hero. His version of the day involved a swarm of man-eating, angry bees and a vicious garden gnome with a hammer. I would tell them the real story another day.

So anyway, half an hour later found the four of us standing at the edge of a lake about half the size of a Quidditch pitch, hidden by large fir trees and woodland, ready to start a raging game of water Quidditch.

I had donned a pair of muggle surf shorts, a bikini top and a white T-Shirt. The other three were dressed similarly, though the boys had decided against the bikini.

I took a deep breath as Ron went flying into the water after a discreet push from his best friend.

What was the worst that could happen?

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**Okay, so I really don't like this chapter. It's shorter than I would have liked, but in order to give you frequent updates I'm going to have to do shorter chapters and more often I think.**

**I'm sorry about that, I hate it when i'm reading too short chapters.**

**Pleasee review if you can! Your reviews for the last 2 chapters made me feel so happy. ; I'm getting so many Story Alerts from you, but I don't know who from!**

**So please, revieww. ;D**

**SprayPaintedShoes. (Y)**


	4. Chapter 4: The Worst Happens

**A/N: Another long wait with this one, but i've had loads of exams over the past couple of weeks. Sorry!**

**_Disclaimer: I do not own any of the Harry Potter characters, JK Rowling does. ;_**

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Chapter 4 - The Worst Always Happens

Note to self: when the phrase 'what's the worst that could happen' is used, the worst _always_ happens. Especially when applied to a Weasley.

So there we were, splashing around in the lake like fools and having what my dad would call 'a smashingly jolly-old time'. The game of Water Quidditch was going well, with Ron and me on one team, versus Hermione and Harry on the other. Hermione and Ron had both chosen to be keepers, Hermione because she wouldn't have to move about too much, and that left me and Harry to be chasers. Against each other. If you can't see disaster coming, you're certainly blind.

We had decided to use a muggle toeball that Dad had bought home from work for a Quaffle.

'Hermione!' I yelled, amused, as I watched the large black and white ball fly through her outstretched arms and onto the bank behind. 'You're meant to _catch_ the toeball, not _dodge_ it!'

'It's a _foot_ball, Ginny!' she shouted back angrily, hoisting herself out of the water to fetch the ball for the eighth time in the last ten minutes.

Oh yes – I am good.

Hermione threw the ball to Harry – well, slightly left of Harry so he had to lunge for it – and he set off, treading water to Ron's end of the lake as I flopped about after him like a fool.

He reached Ron before I could stop him and chucked the football in the goal. It grazed the tips of Ron's fingers, but he was too slow to catch it, and so, Harry and Hermione scored.

'RON!' I screamed, pushing my sopping hair out of my eyes. 'Try CATCHING the ball, why don't you!'

'I'm TRYING!' he bellowed back, throwing himself back into the lake with the ball. Harry sniggered into his hands, but stopped when I growled at him. I tried not to get _too_ overly competitive, though when I get caught up in the action I do tend to get extremely competitive; when this occurs, it tends to include broken bones, splintered broomsticks and a very embarrassed red-head. One of the reasons I probably _shouldn't_ try out for the quidditch team this year.

In the next ten minutes, after much splashing, laughing and the occasional attempted drowning from my brother, Ron and I had scored once more, Hermione and Harry twice more.

We were neck and neck. The sun was high in the sky. The tension was building. Crookshanks was still attacking the gnomes.

'Next point wins,' Harry announced, swimming over to stand opposite me in the relatively shallow water. He tossed the football a couple of times, looking smug.

'Nervous, Gin?'

I narrowed my eyes, cracking my knuckles and shaking out my wrists as I said,

'Just throw the ball, Potter.'

'Are you _sure_ you want to do this, Weasley?' he sneered, tossing the football from one hand to the other, ignoring Ron and Hermione's loud pleas for him to just throw it.

'Well, not unless you're too _scared_,' I said mockingly, raising both hands to my mouth and pouting.

'You're the one who should be scared, Weasley. You are playing against the best Quidditch player Hogwarts has ever seen.'

'Oh,' I said, gazing round as if looking for someone. 'I didn't think Charlie was playing with us.'

This time, it was Harry's turn to narrow his eyes. He opened his mouth to retort, but was stopped by the two Keepers' now angry protests. Instead, he leaned in extremely close, his cheek grazing mine, causing my muscles to involuntarily tense. I felt his lips brush tantalizingly close to my ear, and I swear my heart skipped a beat.

'You're going down, Gin,' he whispered, his breath tickling my ear, making my whole body shiver. My eye-lids lowered as I marvelled at just how seductive he could sound when only saying four words. I can't deny I was completely surprised at how close he had been. He had been so close to me that I could swear I had heard my personal bubble pop.

I was so fazed that I didn't even hear him yelling the start signal, and didn't notice him throwing the football up into the air until he had lunged for it, sending waves of water in my direction, and I heard Ron's voice screaming, 'Get it, you bloody toss pot!'

I snapped out of my trance almost instantly, beating Harry now the only thing on my mind. I threw myself at him, grabbing for the back of his T-Shirt with the tips of my fingers.

The slight tension on his shirt caused him to twist around, awarding me a split second to lunge forward, locking my hands around the ball before I wrenched it out of his grasp.

I dove forward as best as I could through the mess of weeds and lake-greenery, my ears bursting with Hermione and Ron's screams of encouragement.

Harry dove after me, and I felt him scrabble unsuccessfully at the back of my t-shirt, which I had cleverly tucked into my shorts.

Realising this, Harry used the only means left of stopping me, and closed his fingers around my waist. Had my mind not been focused entirely on screaming 'GO, GINNY, GO!' at me, I'm sure my heart would have stopped. It may even have stopped without me knowing. Any heart had to be crazy not to _at least_ falter when Harry Potter's hands were on their waist.

Competitive old me, however, was oblivious that Harry Potter, her crush for the past five years, was practically hugging her, and battled on through the weeds, struggling to free herself from Harry's strong grip.

I wriggled and squirmed, somehow twisting round so that I was facing Harry, the muggle football the only thing separating us, and attempted to splash him so he would release his hold on me.

It didn't work, at all. Instead of splashing Harry, my hand got caught up in a so conveniently placed patch of reeds, and while I was trying to free my hand, my foot managed to tangle itself into more darn reeds that were covering the bottom of the lake. Cursing that Harry and I had chosen the biggest web of reeds in the lake in which to have a furious wrestling match in, since they so happened to want to cause me dire embarrassment and possibly isolation for the rest of my life, I yanked my foot upwards, accidentally kneeing Harry in the – the 'forbidden zone', hard.

Yes - I am an _idiot_.

He winced and groaned in pain, bending his knees and keeling over, somehow managing to trap himself up in the same patch of evil scheming reeds I was tangled in, resulting in us both crashing beneath the surface of the lake and into the depths below.

We scrabbled under the water, clawing at the green ropes wrapping themselves around us and attempting to propel ourselves up to the surface. When my face broke out of the water, I gasped and drank in as much fresh air as was humanly possible. When I turned my attention to Harry, ready to scream at him for nearly drowning me, I found that he was staring at me, his eyes wide, yet still watering from my rather unfortunate knee placement.

Why was _he_ staring at _me_? He was the one who nearly killed me! Who fell on top of me! Who was stupid enough to try and stop me when I was clearly on a roll!

His eyes darted to my hands. I followed his gaze, freezing when I realised just how low my hands had slipped when we were under the water. My hands were grazing the waistband of his surf-shorts, and let's just say they were definitely _not_ on his chest any more.

I wrenched my hands away from his skin as if I had been burnt, blushing a furious red.

'WHAT were you two DOING?' Ron's voice thundered, coming closer until he was standing next to us in the water, Hermione joining not long after.

'Nothing, Ron,' I replied through gritted teeth, my cheeks still a lovely tomato colour.

'Yea, we just… fell,' mumbled Harry, and when I chanced a glance at him I saw that he was avoiding my gaze, just as I had been. Ron was eyeing us suspiciously, Hermione looked like she was fighting back a smile and Harry was inspecting his fingernails. Ron's eyes landed on me, and like any girl caught in a tricky situation, I panicked.

Panicking is not something I would call myself proud of doing, and I don't even do it often, but this situation warranted panicking and running away like a coward. And that's exactly what I did.

'Uh – I think mum's calling me,' I burst out suddenly, louder than I would have hoped. Ron looked around quizzically.

'No she's not!'

But by the time he had figured that out, I had already dragged myself out of the lake and was running for the safe boundaries of the Burrow.

Bloody coward.

I burst through the kitchen door, making straight for the stairs to begin the rest of my life in ashamed solitude in my room, with only my fluffy bunny rabbit slippers and my Gwenog Jones poster for company, when my mother's voice stopped me.

'Ginny! Look at you, you're soaking wet! You'll mess up my floor! Go dry yourself off!'

She whipped out her wand and pointed it at the stone floor, on which I was steadily dripping pools of lake water. I nodded gloomily, continuing upstairs, until her voice stopped me again.

'Oh, and Ginny - ,' she started, but I cut across her.

'I know, mum, I wont just shove the dirty towel outside the bathroom door like Ron and Fred and George do _every_ day - ,'

'No, no, no,' she interrupted impatiently, and then pulled out an envelope from the pocket of her floral apron. 'A letter came for you.'

I moved forward, my hand outstretched to receive the letter, but she held it back.

'Who's it from?' she asked casually, studying the scrawled writing on the front. I sighed. She knew who it was from. I got a letter from Dean nearly every week, and every week my mother asked me the same thing. She only wanted details about Dean, as all she knew about him was that he was a muggle-born, was in Ron's year and had asked me out at the end of last year. And as far as I was concerned, that was all she was going to find out.

'The same person whose been writing to me all summer, mum,' I said in a bored voice, shaking my hand and indicating that I wanted the letter. She hesitated for a second, and then sighed and give it to me, turning round and muttering what sounded a lot like 'girls'.'

I raced up the stairs, finally reaching the seclusion of my room. After drying myself and changing into a clean t-shirt and a pair of denim shorts, I perched myself on the bed and stared at the letter.

Part of me wanted to throw it out of the window, forget about Dean and concentrate on getting Harry, but the other part of me whacked the part of me that wanted to forget Dean around the head and told it to open the letter and bloody well like it.

So naturally, I opened it.

_To Ginny,_

_How've you been? There's not much happening over here, the football season's finished, so I haven't been to a game in a while, but I've been subscribing to 'Quidditch Weekly' and keeping up with that lately. I can't believe your brother supports Chudley Channons, they lose _all_ the time, but then again, the Holyhead Harpies aren't exactly the best either. (I'm kidding, Ginny.)._

_What's happening over at your house? Are your brothers still going on at you for going out with me? I'm probably going to get an earful from Ron in September – _not_ looking forward to that._

_So anyway, I'm going to Diagon Alley next week, on Saturday, and I was just wondering if you were going? Maybe we could meet up while we're there, if you're allowed, that is._

_Write back soon, can't wait to see you, I miss you loads._

_Lot's of love,_

_Dean. _

I stared down at the folded piece of parchment, guilt flooding through me like butterbeer, soaking each one of my brain cells. For the first time all summer, the operation was the last thing on my mind. I felt _horrible_. Here I was, getting all excited over Harry's soaking T-shirted body, while my _boyfriend_ was sitting at home, _missing_ me. Writing me letters, worrying about me, subscribing to silly magazines just to impress me.

It was the same stupid argument in my head.

Harry or Dean?

Dean or Harry?

I felt like a broken record player, or whatever the muggle saying was. It was like thousands of tiny little men running round in my head, half with dark brown hair and football shirts, the rest with adorably round glasses and quidditch boots. And both types were launching a full scale war inside my head, complete with tiny little swords and all.

My head hurt. Badly.

I sighed, rubbing my temples and staring down at the letter. I needed someone to talk to. Someone who wasn't too selfish to listen, too much of an idiot to understand or too busy to help. I needed someone who always knew all of the answers.

A candle flickered inside my brain. Smiling to myself, I hurried down the stairs and into to kitchen.

'Mum, have you seen Hermione?'

**Reviews anyone? (:**

**Goo onnn...**


	5. Chapter 5: Pygmy Puffs

Chapter 5 – Pygmy Puffs

The next few weeks after The Incident (which was what I had decided to call It, much more tasteful than "that one time in the lake when I kneed Harry in the crotch") passed pretty uneventfully: I got four more letters off Dean, seven more attacks of The Book from Phlegm (of which I still had the scars, physically and mentally) and a couple of good quidditch games with Harry that were like galleons in the 'Operation: Get Harry To Notice Me And Stop Thinking Of Me As Just His Best Friend's Little Sister By Treating Him More Like A Friend,Therefore Resulting In Him Becoming My Boyfriend And Me Being Excruciatingly Happy' fund.

It was a bright, Saturday morning. The sun was shining, the birds were signing, and I was sat at the kitchen table, which, looking back over my life, I realised I spent an awful lot of time at; in fact, everyone did. It would be safe to say that where the Weasleys and Co. were concerned, the kitchen table was the centre of the universe and everything else merely orbiting around it.

I was contemplating whether to have toast or crumpets for my breakfast. It was a hard decision, since both involved butter, which, over the years, I had grown wary of, given my elbow's unnatural attraction to it.

Harry sat down opposite me with a plate of toast, having just come down with Ron and Hermione.

Toast it was then.

'Morning, Ginny,' Harry said brightly, taking a bite. My stomach did that thing again, where it went horribly bubbly and fluttery, like it was filled with lots of sugar-deprived butterflies who had just been let loose in Honeydukes.

Damn him and his insect erupting influence over me.

'Morning, Harry,' I replied, trying to keep my voice at a normal pitch whilst wiping my damp palms hastily on my denim shorts. Boys never had this effect on me. Michael didn't. Dean didn't. Witch Weekly's Hottest Wizard of the Week didn't. So why in the name of Merlin did Harry?

Mum bustled into the kitchen, glancing at the clock, which she had been doing a lot lately, so much so she'd started to look like she'd developed a twitch and looked like she'd escaped from Mungo's. I glanced up at it too, and saw that all nine hands were pointing to 'Mortal Peril.' Rub it in, why don't you?

'Ginny dear, have you checked whether your school robes still fit you?'

I rolled my eyes.

'They fit me fine, mum,' I answered. She had asked me the same question about five thousand times since I had returned from Hogwarts, like she'd expected me to have spontaneously grown an extra three feet over the last year. Then again, most of her sons had. Must just be me who's vertically challenged.

'Right, well, there's no need for you to go to Madame Malkins today then,' she muttered, more to herself than me. I groaned. I had completely forgotten that Mum had scheduled the annual back to school trip to Diagon Alley for today. Swearing under my breath, I took a half-hearted bite out of my toast. This was going to be fun.

No more than a minute later Mum had hauled all of us (except Bill and Phlegm, thankfully) into one of those posh Ministry cars where the drivers glared at you for sneezing over their pristine leather seats.

What else was I supposed to do? I had a cold!

'It's good Dad can get us these again,' Ron sighed, stretching out in the back of the seat like the bloody selfish git he was, and sliding me that bit closer towards Harry, who was sitting next to me, so that our elbows were almost grazing. Well, I wasn't complaining. Unfortunately, we were stepping out of the fancy car minutes later, the driver eyeing me from the front seat as I left. He never did forgive me for that one sneeze.

The next hour or so was a blur to me, with my mum whisking me up and down the newly bare, ugly Diagon Alley so fast that my toes didn't even touch the ground. We didn't even linger in the shops long enough for the stench of Magical Menagerie to reach our nostrils. When my mother finally slowed down long enough for my feet to hit the floor so I could wrench my now thoroughly bruised arm out of her grip, I found that we were outside Fred and George's shop.

All I could think was wow.

The window display was so excruciatingly bright that tears poured out of my eyes and I had to resist the urge to sneeze (a common occurrence when you mix Ginny Weasley with bright things. Why? I don't know). The left-hand window was crammed with every type of product you could imagine, and the right was sporting a gigantic purple poster emblazoned with yellow flashing letters:

Why Are You Worrying About You-Know-Who?

You SHOULD Be Worrying About

U-NO-POO –

The Constipation Sensation That's Gripping the Nation!

I laughed loudly, ignoring my mum's weak sigh and charging into the shop before the rest of my family. I had to get myself a t-shirt with that on.

'Fred!' I yelled over the clamour in the shop, standing on my tiptoes as I attempted to pinpoint one of my brothers. The shop was so overly crowded that my over-energetic waving may have taken out a few eleven year olds, and I definitely elbowed a scrawny little midget with brown hair in the chest. He just glared at me and scurried away before I could muster an apology.

After a few more convenient joint placements I managed to wind my way up to a red-headed boy standing near one of the shelves.

'Fr-' I started happily, but then stopped suddenly when he turned around. On closer inspection, I found that it was not Fred, but the very same scrawny midget I had abused earlier. I stared at his strikingly red hair for a couple of seconds, my attention only dragged away when the boy looked at me and spat out 'what?'

He obviously hadn't forgiven me for before. I opened my mouth to speak, closing it in shock once again when the boy reached a hand up to his head, grabbed a tuft full of fiery locks and pulled his hair right off, revealing his original sandy brown hair. I stared at him, my eyebrows grazing my hairline, and he just stared back at me, shaking his head and muttering something that sounded a lot like 'girls' before venturing back into the crowd again.

Disoriented, I stared around before moving closer to the box the boy had put his hair into.

'Wickedly Realistic Wigs! Fool your family, friends and teachers,' I read, before cursing under my breath and pushing my way back through the crowd once more.

After another couple of minutes, when my ribs had been severely elbowed and my toes painfully stood on, I came face to face with what was definitely a member of the Weasley clan. I took a deep breath in.

'Fred,' I said finally, pointing to him.

'No,' he replied, laughing at my disappointed expression. He pointed to himself.

'George,' he said slowly, as if talking to an idiot. 'Ginny.' He pointed to me. 'Ceiling,' he said, directing his finger upwards, nodding over-exaggeratedly, and then downwards as he said, 'Floor.'

I raised my eyebrows, gritting my teeth together.

'Yes, I'm not an idiot, George,' I snapped, and then hurried on before he could object. 'I just thought you were Fred from far away, you look the same.'

'Well, Ginny, that's the general trend in identical twins, you see.'

I shook my head, growling under my breath. Count to ten, Ginny, you don't want to get angry in the middle of a public place now, do you.

'How's business?' I asked, as we wove our way over to a stack of boxes labelled 'Patented Daydream Charms', trying to think of the only question that wouldn't involve the twin's favourite sport, Ginny Mocking.

'Booming, little sis, just booming,' he replied cockily, proceeding into a detailed description of every product they had sold so far. I nodded along politely, congratulating him in all the right places. Half way through another one of his anecdotes involving a seventy-year-old hag and a Fanged Frisbee, he stopped, glancing over to the corner of the shop.

'Sorry, Ginny,' he said quickly, giving me an annoyingly patronizing pat on the head. 'Harry's over there, I want to say hi.'

I waved him away, turning my attention instead to the Patented Daydream Charms. These wouldn't do too badly in one of my History of Magic lessons, especially if they involved a certain dashing black haired hero standing in the corner of the shop talking to George…

'Haven't you girls found our special Wonder Witch products yet?'

I jumped at the sudden voice beside me as I was dragged out of a particularly good daydream. I jumped once more when I noticed that the boy in my daydream was standing next to Fred, smiling at me. And then, just to top it all off, I gave a third jump when I realised that Hermione had been stood next to me during my whole daydreaming session, and, from the smirk on her face, I guessed she had an idea what I had been drooling about.

I blushed, not meeting Hermione's eyes as Fred made beckoning motions.

'Follow me, ladies…'

He led us over to a display next to the window. An extremely pink display. I shuddered to myself. Umbridge would've loved it - had it not involved Weasley's, pranks, rule breaking and a lack of demonic kittens. So actually, she wouldn't have been too fond of it.

There was hardly any room near the shelves anyway; the display was crowded with overly enthusiastic, annoying loud, high-pitched giggling girls. In a nutshell, mini-Cho's, basically. Lots and lots of mini-Cho's.

'There you go,' Fred said proudly. 'Best range of love potions you'll find anywhere.'

I looked at the products, then back at my brother's grinning face. I didn't like this too much. Drawing from past experience, Fred and George were:

Trying to sell me fake love potions that would really make my head explode with bright purple pimples

Trying to kill me

Actually being genuinely nice, in which case there was definitely something wrong.

'Do they work?' I asked. Like they'd tell me the truth anyway.

'Certainly they work,' Fred replied, looking hurt. Pah, sure, and I'm Fudge's uncle.

'For up to twenty-four hours at a time depending on the weight of the boy in question –'

'- and the attractiveness of the girl,' George cut in. He looked at me suddenly, as if he'd only just noticed me, which was probably true, seeing that my vertically challenged body was lower than his line of vision. I glanced momentarily downwards - damn stubby legs.

'But we're not selling them to our sister.'

Like I'd want to buy them anyway, plotting to kill me - what? Why?

'Not when she's already got about five boys on the go from what we've –'

Five boys? Was he seriously an idiot? Like I had the looks, the patience or the organization to juggle five boyfriends at the same time. Think of all the Christmas presents I'd have had to buy – that's a lot of pairs of socks. Plus, I'd probably forget their names. I would be calling Michael Tim, and Tim Gary, and Gary Daniel, and so forth.

'Whatever you've heard from Ron is a big fat lie,' I replied, trying to look calm and hide the blush that was rising in my cheeks due to Harry's piercing gaze fixed on me. I grabbed the nearest product I could, a small, pink pot.

'What's this?'

'Guaranteed Ten-Second Pimple Vanisher,' Fred replied simply. Hm, could come in handy. I doubted it worked though. Would probably blow your head off or something. Eyeing the bottle a little skeptically I put it back on the shelf, ignoring Fred as he waffled on until I heard my current boyfriend's (my one boyfriend) name being said.

'Are you or are you not currently going out with a boy called Dean Thomas?'

'Yes, I am,' I said, sweeping my eyes over the products still, a silver cage filled with what looked like small fluff balls catching my eyes. 'And last time I looked, he was definitely one boy, not five. What are those?'

I pointed to the cage, where the pink and purple fluff balls were now emitting high pitched squeaks and rolling into each other. I felt myself smile, despite my anger at Fred. What cute fluff balls!

'Pygmy Puffs,' George told me. He continued to speak, though I was too distracted by the fluff balls that were crowding round my finger and attempting to eat it, though in the cutest possible way. I think he was talking about Michael… either that or garden furniture.

Ron came over, and I poked him hard in the chest and told him off for blabbing to Forge about Dean. Then Mum emerged from the middle of the shop, looking flustered.

'Mum, can I have a Pygmy Puff?' I asked instantly, before either of my idiotic brothers could say anything else about my current relationship. Mum knew about Dean, but I didn't want her thinking that I was the school 'scarlet woman' as she liked to call them, which I wasn't.

Mum agreed that I could have one (I think she was under the impression that I wanted to purchase the whole lot and start a miniature fluff ball army - which, come to think about it, wasn't a bad idea...) She then dove into the shop again in an attempt to locate my dad, who was still giggling over muggle playing cards.

'Hey, Hermione -'

I turned to Hermione, looking for advice on which one to get. She wasn't there anymore. Glancing around, I spotted what looked like a foot disappearing, and then the shop door opened, and slammed shut again. I considered telling someone that Hermione, Harry and Ron had sneaked away, but then thought better of it. Heck, even I needed to get away from over-protective Weasley No. 1, and I was used to her.

Instead, I directed my question towards Fred.

'I reckon you should get the purple one,' he said at once. I squinted through the cage, spotting a single purple fluff ball in the corner, spinning around manically in the sawdust looking like he was attempting to dig his way underneath the bars of the cage. I raised my eyebrows.

'The purple one?'

Fred nodded enthusiastically. I watched it give up on its hole, pause for a second, and then start rolling repeatedly into the metal bars.

'Isn't he a bit of an – idiot?'

Fred looked at me, his eyes wide.

'No, not at all! That purple one's the cleverest there; all the pink ones are stupid sods. The purple one knows how to dance and everything, the pink one's just roll around squeaking and looking cute.'

I eyed the purple one again, who was still attempting to escape. That didn't look too much like dancing to me.

'I'll get one of the pink ones,' I said finally, tickling one of the sane fluff balls, and laughing as it squealed excitedly.

Fred looked disappointed.

'Ginny! Don't be so bloody superficial! Get the purple one - trust me, you won't regret it!'

I withdrew my finger from the cage, putting it on my hip. He just didn't understand, did he?

'I'm getting a pink one.'

'Purple,' he demanded, turning to face me fully.

'Pink,' I replied, adopting the same stance. We weren't going to start this, were we?

'Purple.'

'Pink.'

'Purple'

'Pink'

'Pink.'

'Purple.'

'Pink.'

'Look, Fred!' I said suddenly. 'I'm getting the purple one, all right? And nothing you say is going to change that!'

Fred sighed, shaking his head. He reached into the cage, extracting the purple Pygmy Puff, and walked over to the counter with it, smiling slightly.

I looked back into the cage, watching the remaining pink Pygmy Puffs crowd around the cage bars to gaze up at me. I frowned, looking up. The last minute's conversation replayed in my head, and then it hit me.

Ah, crap.


	6. Chapter 6: Personal Bubble Popped!

Chapter 6 - Personal Bubble - Popped!

If evil had a name, its name would be Romilda Vane.

Black haired, long legged, big eyed, high pitched, over confident, stupid, pathetic, banshee look-alike Romilda Vane.

The very girl who strikes - not fear - into the hearts of all those surrounding her (with the exception of the midget first years, who are frightened by flobberworms), but that horrible taste in your mouth that makes you want to vomit, especially when she prances up and down the corridors like she's the bloody Queen of England, with her skirt so short it barely passes for a belt and her face so caked with makeup that it's actually three centimetres thicker than it should be.

And right now, that little pumpkin pastie was over on the other side of the platform, flirting profusely with my boyfriend.

My family, who had all dragged themselves along to wish Ron, Hermione, Harry and I off to Hogwarts, seemed oblivious to the evil death glare I was shooting across the platform and were talking happily, waving to friends, or, in Mum's case, glancing anxiously round the platform so often that her head was a blur.

Hermione however, after watching my cheeks grow steadily redder, and then following my gaze to the foul-play being carried out merely meters away, seemed to understand my inward struggle. She couldn't hear it, obviously, but if she could have, it would have sounded something like this:

You tosspot, you, flirting with my boyfr-

Hey! Put that hand away! Put it away!

No – stop the stroking! No stroking Dean's chest! That chest is my chest to stroke, not yours. I swear, Vane, if you don't remove your piggy little hands off of him in the next three seconds then –

DEAN! Why are you smiling? Stop smiling! You're not enjoying this! You don't like Romilda! You like me! Ginny! Your girlfriend!

Stop laughing, she's not funny! Hey – why are you blushing? Why I ought to come over there and hex you into next year for even talking to that cauldron cake -

But obviously, Hermione, lacking the ability to read minds (not that I would put it past her, that girl had a brain bigger than the quidditch pitch), only saw my less-than-pleased facial expressions. But I'm guessing she grasped the general idea.

A loud whistle signalled the departure of the train, and my mum shrieked manically before flapping about like a cooped up chicken, kissing us all multiple times on the cheek and ushering us onto the steaming red train, yelling warnings to us as it started to chug its way out of the station.

I waved out of the window until we had rounded the corner and then turned to face the carriages, squinting my eyes for any sign of the man-stealing beast. Oh yes, her and I needed a little chat. I grinned manically and began to laugh, very psychotic-like, and several students around me began to back away slowly. I wound my way around the cowering students until I reached a gaggle of Ravenclaw girls from my year a little way down the carriage.

'Hi, Ginny!' one of them said brightly when she had spotted me - which, considering the redness of my hair, wasn't too hard.

'Hi, Sophie,' I replied, smiling politely.

'Good summer?'

'Um, yes, it was good,' I answered hastily, not needing all the small talk and pleasant chit chat - I had a bitch to kill. 'Listen, have any of you seen Romilda Vane?'

A couple of them shook their heads and shrugged, but one nodded.

'She walked past just a second ago.'

I thanked all of the girls and set off down the corridor, making it merely a step before a tap on the shoulder stopped me. I turned round, ready to bite the head off of any person who dared challenge a pissed-off Weasley, but bit my own tongue when I came face to face with Harry.

'Fancy trying to find a compartment?'

The temptation to say yes nearly overpowered my will to kill Romilda Vane and I was about an inch away from spending the whole train journey cuddled up with Harry in a deserted compartment somewhere, but the lingering image of Vane with her slimy paws all over my property forced the words, ,'I can't, Harry, I said I'd meet Dean. See you later,' out of my mouth, which, translated, meant 'I'd much rather sit with you for the whole train journey, Harry, trust me, but right now there's a banshee look-a-like with my name on it, and a boyfriend who has a lot of explaining to do.'

I turned and walked away, trying to ignore the miserable look on Harry's face. As I was walking, with my mind so focused on Harry's beautiful, spectacularly green eyes, I didn't notice a second year crossing the corridor with a rather large trunk and ended up walking straight into it, stubbing my toe, yelping loudly and stumbling headfirst into one of the compartment doors opposite. To repeat my earlier words: smooth, Ginny, real smooth.

I whipped round, massaging my bruised head, my eyes streaming, but Harry had already turned and walked away. I sighed with relief, turning my attention to the second years that were gathering at the door of the compartment that my head had just painfully connected with.

And do you know what the arrogant little gits were doing? They were laughing. At me!

'Oi!' I snapped at the idiot who had been holding the trunk. 'Watch where you're going!'

He looked at me, his eyebrow raised, as his little chums watched the spectacle with increasing interest.

'Watch where you're going, more like it.'

Since when did these second years get so bloody cocky? When I'd been twelve, I wouldn't even ask a fifth year to borrow a tissue, let alone backchat to them like that. Youths these days, I thought, shaking my head wisely and stroking my imaginary beard, no respect for their elders.

I glared down at the boy, trying to look as intimidating as I could, which failed slightly considering I now had a lump the size of an egg on my head.

'What did you say?' I growled.

'You're not even a prefect,' he pointed out, gesturing to my badge-lacking robes. I grinned wickedly, moving my face in closer to his.

'I don't need to be a prefect, trust me.'

That shut the little bugger up. I continued my trek down the train, glancing into each compartment as I went, searching furiously for Vane.

Compartment one: Empty

Compartment two: Screaming third years.

Compartment three: 'Too-cool-for-school' seventh years.

Compartment four: One petrified first year.

Compartment five: The twitchy ferret named Malfoy.

Compartment six: Suspiciously locked.

Compartment seven: Empty.

Compartment eight: Giggling, gaggling girls and – Bingo.

I turned into the doorway of the open compartment, staring at the back of Vane, who was chatting animatedly away to her brainless clones in that irritating high pitched squeak - something about skinny-dipping, I couldn't be sure, my Vane-defenses pretty much blocked out most things she said. She threw her long, silky locks backwards and nearly whipped me in the face. She didn't deserve to have a remotely similar hair colour to Harry. If only I had a pair of scissors...

I tapped her on the shoulder, smiling the sweetest smile I could when she turned around.

'Romilda, do you think I could have a word?' I gushed, having to resist the urge to slap myself for ever making myself sound like one of them.

She smiled similarly back at me, though, having been mortal enemies since I was in second year, and she was in first, there was no niceness in that smile, only pure, untainted evil. She followed me into the corridor after a meaningful glance with her followers.

'What is it, Ginny?'

I nearly retched. I had only been talking to her for a matter of seconds and she had already found the most inappropriate time to giggle.

'The thing is, Romilda,' I started, clasping my hands together, 'you know this three way relationship thing that you're attempting to have with me and my boyfriend?' She stared back at me, her false-smile cracking slightly. 'Its not working for us,' I said, still adopting my 'sweet' voice. 'It's not us, it's you… it's just not working, and I really think we ought to let it go, m'kay?'

'I don't know what you mean, Ginny,' she replied, her voice dripping with syrup. She giggled again.

I moved in slightly closer, lowering my voice to an almost a deadly whisper, one that had been trained to perfection following fifteen years of living with six git-ish brothers who liked to piss me off on a regular basis.

'I think you know exactly what I mean, Vane. This year, keep away from my boyfriend.'

She narrowed her eyes in my direction. I smiled the sickly sweet smile again.

'So, are we clear, Romilda?'

She stared at me like she was something she had just scraped off the bottom of her shoe, spitting back at me sarcastically,

'As crystal.'

She turned on her heel, her nose held high, and pranced back into the compartment, obviously raring to retell the conversation to all her Vane-bots. When the door slammed behind her, the smile slid from my face like stinksap.

I'd sorted out Vane, now it was time to sort out Dean.

I carried on along the corridor, careful to watch out for cocky second years with painfully sharp trunks (what did they have in them anyway? Bricks?) until I came to a compartment near the top of the train, obviously near the prefects' carriage as I could already hear Hermione lecturing the new fifth year prefects before the Head Girl could even get a word in. I spared the poor, wretched souls inside a moment of pity before stepping into the compartment opposite, which was occupied by the person I needed to talk to and his unusually merry and annoyingly Irish friend, Seamus.

Dean was looking as cute as always, with his dark hair and dark skin, and deep, brown eyes. He looked up at me, breaking off his conversation with Seamus to greet me.

'Hey, Ginny,' he said brightly, scooting over to allow me space to sit next to him, and then giving me a light kiss on the cheek, which, despite the anger bubbling inside me, made me smile and blush lightly.

Paddy Irishman made gagging noises behind his hand, and, while Dean looked sheepish, I shot him the death glare that I usually reserved for Vane, Chang and Phlegm. This was one of the downsides of being Dean's girlfriend. Seamus was a nice enough guy in the don't-mind-being-around-him-but-would-kill-myself-if-I-was-stuck-on-a-desert-island-with-him way, but - well, yeah, I'd kill myself if I was stuck on a desert island with him. Seamus, catching my look, rose hastily from his seat.

'I'm hungry. I'm going to go and find some food, I think. Bye, mate, Ginny.' He beckoned each one of us goodbye, avoiding my eye, and left the compartment.

When I turned back to Dean, he was smiling at me.

'So,' he said, pulling me closer so I was practically sitting on his knee. 'How was your summer?'

'It was good, just stayed around the house most days. How was yours?'

He delved into a description of his holiday to France, while I tried desperately to keep the frown off my face at the thought of Dean surrounded by many, many Phlegms. And, for some reason, Vanes.

While he was talking my mind began to wander, something it was extremely guilty of doing a lot of the time. I had the attention span of a scatter-brained goldfish. Dean's hair was a lovely, dark brown colour, and flopped over his eyes so lazily, unlike Harry's, which refused to lie flat. I couldn't deny that he was extremely cute. But Dean was cute, whereas Harry was handsome and striking and gorgeous and… wow.

'And I haven't been out much since then, apart from playing football, and going to Diagon Alley the other week.'

Something clicked in my brain.

'Oh Merlin, Dean!' I said, slapping a hand to my forehead, in a way that must have looked rather comical. 'I forgot that I said I'd meet up with you last Saturday in Diagon Alley! I'm so sorry! I completely forgot -'

Dean laughed, silencing me with a soft kiss.

'It's alright, Ginny,' he said simply, 'I was fine with it.'

'I'm so sorry,' I continued to apologise in a small voice. I really had forgotten, but that didn't stop the famous voice of guilt inside my head reminding me that I had spent the whole day in Diagon Alley with Harry instead. And I had enjoyed it.

You disgust me, muttered my conscience.

'I don't think I would've been able to escape my mum, anyway,' I defended.

'It's fine, Ginny,' Dean repeated, the signature smile on his face never fading. 'I met up with Seamus and Romilda instead.'

I nodded, smiling, glad he'd forgiven - what?

'Romilda?' I repeated. Dean nodded simply, smiling at me once more, obviously not recognising the look on my face. 'Romilda Vane.' It was more of a statement than a question. This time, Dean noticed the hardness in my voice, and the fact that my teeth were clenched so tightly together that their grinding was audible.

'How many other Romilda's do we know?'

My glare silenced his chuckle.

'What's wrong with that?'

'Nothing, nothing,' I said with a lame attempt at nonchalance, twirling random strands of his thick hair around my fingers. 'You just seem to have been spending a lot of time with her lately.'

'When else have I been spending time with her?'

'You were talking to her on the platform, just before.' My fists clenched at the image of Romilda's scabby little hands on Dean's chest.

'Oh, that. We were talking about Saturday,' he said, shrugging as if this meant absolutely nothing. Well, it didn't mean nothing in my - albeit slightly illogical and unreasonable - books!

'You two seemed very… friendly.'

He rolled his eyes at me, shifting me slightly on his lap so I could see him better and wrapping his arms around me. I couldn't help but sigh; despite my summer of scheming and plotting to win my status as 'Mrs. Harry Potter' I couldn't deny that I had missed the comfort of this. It's nice to know you're loved and you have something that Romilda Vane doesn't.

'We're friends. She's a nice girl. And that's all. Just friends.'

'She obviously doesn't think that,' I muttered, now fumbling with the corner of his collar so I didn't have to look at him. When I did, I saw his eyebrows furrow so a crease appeared between them. I sighed heavily, taking my turn to roll my eyes. Boys could be so bloody unperceptive.

'It's obvious she likes you.' Dean stared at me blankly, so I added on in a slow, obvious voice. 'As more than a friend.'

Dean snorted in a 'yeah, right,' sort of way.

'Dean, she does! It's so obvious!' He arched his eyebrows at me. 'Please don't tell me you couldn't see all the flirting going on on the platform! You were practically drowning in it!'

'She was being friendly,' he protested. I let an exasperated noise escape from my throat, strongly resisting the urge to facepalm until both my face and palm fell off.

'Yes, her hand was being incredibly friendly with your chest. Plus the fact that she hitches her skirt up about three inches whenever she sees you.'

He opened his mouth to speak and then closed it again, the frown reappearing. 'She doesn't do that.'

'You just don't see it.'

He scrutinised my determined expression and my crossed arms for a couple of seconds before shaking his head and laughing uncertainly.

'Romilda Vane doesn't fancy me.' The look I gave him could have flattened mountains, so he rushed on, 'And even if she did' - he took my small hands into his larger ones - 'you're still the only girl for me. Full stop, end of sentence, no questions asked. Do you hear me?'

I flushed and looked down, not being able to stop the traitorous smile that crept across my face. He released one of my hands from his and used it to push my chin upwards to meet his view.

'Do you?'

His eyes were the most adorable shade of brown, smouldering, and I managed to breathe out a feeble 'yes.' He nodded, a perfect smile grazing his features.

'Good.'

Then he cupped my cheek and leaned in, brushing his lips softly across mine. My hands found their way to the nape of his neck, winding my fingers in the soft hair at the back of his head. Things were progressing nicely when a loud knock on the compartment door made us jump.

'Erm.' I growled the instant I heard the annoying Irish voice over the rattling of the train. 'I've been wandering the corridors for too long now and my legs hurt and some second year nearly tried to murder me with a trunk, so I'm coming in whether you like it or not. So, whatever you're doing, uh - stop it.'

I slid off Dean's lap just as the door opened a crack, sitting in an acceptable position beside him while running my fingers through my hair to tame it.

Seamus's head peeked through the gap, obviously checking everything and everyone was decent, and then he plonked himself down on the seat opposite us. I continued with the death glare I'd been giving him earlier, which made him blush and avert his eyes away from me - something told me that the vindictive stab of glee I felt in response wasn't normal.

'Turns out Harry's been made quidditch captain this year. You still going to try out?' he asked Dean.

'Yeah, yeah,' he replied, the excitement making his face look instantly younger. I inwardly cursed the fluttering sensation in my stomach that had been triggered by the mention of Harry. How was it that just his name had that effect on me? 'You're trying out, aren't you?'

I nodded, smiled at him and then resumed my death glare at Paddy Irishman. Maybe if I glared hard enough, he might just die.

The two boys started to talk about quidditch, but I was too busy killing Irish-boy to get involved, and my mind strayed to more gruesome and public acts of murder. It snapped right away from blast-ended skrewts and back to the rattling compartment, however, when the door opened and the one person I hated more than Irish boy stepped through the door.

What the Hell was Romilda bloody Vane doing here?

'Hey,' she said, in a falsely high pitched voice, dragging out the word to a needless length. And then she giggled, and I, once again, resisted the urge to kill her.

'Hey, Romilda,' chorused Dean and Seamus. I just glared deathly glares.

A line of stragglers followed Vane into the compartment, more commonly know as her 'followers' and a few others. These consisted of Vane-bot no.1, Sahara; Vane-bot no.2, Jessica; Vane-bot no.3, Rebekah; Tim, the male-Vane in fifth year; a couple of his cronies; and finally Jayson, a boy who, for some reason, hung round with the aforementioned diots, though I had no idea why. He was in my year, intelligent, down-to-earth and quiet, and I quite liked him. So why he hung out with Mr. and Mrs. Vane and their Vane-spawn I had no idea.

'What are you doing here?'

'I invited them!' Seamus proclaimed in answer to Dean's question, as the extra eight people squeezed into the compartment. My mouth dropped open, and the murder ideas in my head crossed over the 'acceptable' line to just plain horrific. Not to mention the fact that Seamus had invited the number one enemy into our ranks, he had also made eleven people squish into a compartment only designed to hold eight.

We were sandwiched together so close I could almost hear Rebekah's heart beat.

Personal bubble - popped!

'And of course we said yes!' Giggle. 'It was getting so boring down there, anyway.' Giggle. 'So we decided to come and talk to you three.'

Well, we don't want to talk to you, so get lost!

'That's fine, we wanted to talk to you too.'

Wrong answer, Dean! I shot him an incredulous look but he avoided my eyes. I had an inkling he was doing it purposefully - people often did. Instead, I rummaged around angrily in my pocket for a distraction. My search rewarded me with: a sheaf of ripped parchment, a piece of string, an elastic band, owl treats for Pig and one of Fred and George's inkless quills.

I shoved everything back in except the quill, parchment and one of the owl treats, which I proceeded to flick at Romilda's head. While she glanced around questioningly I tucked my knees up to my body and began to scribble furiously, pressing so hard at times that I poked holes in the paper.

GINNY WEASLEY'S TO DO LIST.

1) Kill Romilda Vane in the most gruesome, embarrassing and drawn out way ever invented.

2) Kill Seamus in a similar way.

3) Clean out my pockets.

4) Make giggling illegal.

5) Sort out Operation: G.H.T.N.M.A.S.T.O.M.A.J.H.B.F.L.S.B.T.H.M.L.A.F.T.R.I.H.B.M.B.A.M.B.E.H

I tapped the end of the quill rhythmically on the paper, trying to think up more tasks to set myself. This attracted Dean's attention to the parchment and after scanning the first couple of lines, a snort of laughter which he disguised as a cough broke out. Then his eyebrows furrowed again, and he whispered to me,

'What the hell is Operation: G.H.T.N.M.A.S.T.O.M.A.J.H.B.F.L.S.B.T.H.M.L.A.F.T.R.I.H.B.M.B.A.M.B.E.H?'

The smile that had formed on my face vanished.

Shit.

What was I supposed to say? 'Oh, just me planning to make Harry my boyfriend while I'm still dating you, no big.' I couldn't say that! Talk about completely destroying the top secretive-ness. So, as usual, I panicked. I said the first thing that came to my mind, words tumbling out of my mouth before I could check if they made sense.

'Uh… well, obviously, it stands for, um, operation… give help to - non magic-folk and, erm, and squibs to open, um, more - acting job help b-branches for, uhm, branches for lonely squibs because… to have muggle, muggle lives and - fancies takes uhhhh… responsibility, initiative, h-help, brains, motivation, uhm, brawn, and well, er - most brainless-squibs expect… help. Yep, they expect help.'

When Dean continued to stare at me with a blank expression, one eyebrow cocked up, I added on feebly, 'it's a partnership group to SPEW. I need to talk to Hermione about it.'

There was a moment of silence between us, which all the other occupants of the compartment didn't notice as they were involved in their own conversations, and then Dean said in an incredulous voice,

'Why didn't you just call it HTS? Help the Squibs?'

Great, my boyfriend chose today of all days to be logic.

'Well, no one wants to join a boring group called HTS, do they? It sounds like an STD anyway.'

'And OGH - whatever, doesn't? At least people can remember HTS. Imagine trying to find the other one in the Yellow Pages.'

Without even asking what the Yellow Pages were I shot back in a voice that sounded a lot more confident than I was,

'Well you don't have to join the group, so you wont have to remember it, will you? Now stop bashing my group, I don't see you trying to help the poor squibs.'

'Well, if I did I'd think of a better group name,' he muttered. I turned to give him a cold look, but he grinned a heart-warming smile and leant forward to brush his lips softly across mine, instantly turning my frown upside down.

I pulled away, still smiling, and turned my head slightly to see Vane glaring daggers at me. I felt a surge of vindictive pleasure as I stuffed my parchment back into my pockets and shuffled closer to Dean so I could lay my head on his shoulder and he could put his arms around me, which he did.

My toe still throbbed painfully, as did my head, Seamus was still Irish and Romilda was still a slag, but I was oddly mellow snuggled into Dean's welcoming chest.

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**A/N****: I have nothing interesting to say right now.**


	7. Chapter 7: I'm No Rocket Sighentist

**A/N: Ha! I did it! I gave you an update in only four days. I'm so happy right now :)**

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Chapter 7 - I'm No Rocket Sigh-entist.

The compartment door flew open, once again, and I had to bid my short-lived mellowness goodbye when, as before, a person I'd really rather _not_ see sidled in.

"What do you want, Smith?" I grumbled, unstitching myself from Dean and stretching out my arms. Trust Zacharias Smith to come in and destroy the only slice of peace I was likely to get that year. Prat.

"Polite, aren't we?"

I hated Zacharias Smith when we were first forced to sit next to each other in Herbology when we were just wee eleven years olds and he'd sneezed mud in my face, I hated Zacharias Smith when he joined the DA last year and he'd been a general ass, and I hated him now. I sensed rather than saw Dean's eyebrow cock up and felt his hand curl round mine in a protective manner that, to my surprise, sparked off a twinge of annoyance somewhere deep inside me. Did he think I couldn't defend myself? I brushed this feeling off though; I'd probably just misread it. Or something. Er.

"Not to you. What do you want?"

He took in my scowl and crossed his arms over his chest, leaning against the doorframe, looking smug.

"Just what everyone else wants," he shrugged cockily. "To know what happened at the Ministry last year."

The compartment fell to a deathly silence, all eyes on Zacharias Smith.

"And why would I want to tell you, Smith?"

"Because I want to know. And so does everybody else. All we know is that You-Know-Who was there. Where's the excitement in that? What about all the action?"

My mouth fell open in disgust. He couldn't just to strut on up to me and expect me to pour my heart out to him about what happened in July. I felt like slapping him. Sirius had died that night, and all Smith cared about was whether there had bee a good fight? He didn't care about all of the shit he six of us who'd went that night had had to go through. He relished in the idea of pain and suffering. Right there and then, Zacharias Smith became the No. 1 prat on Ginny Weasley's hit list.

"I wouldn't tell you, Smith, if you were the last man on earth." I stood up, gripping my wand, which was hidden in the front pocket of my hoody. "Now go away."

He puffed his chest up, trying to hide the fact that I was a good two inches taller than him. I rarely got to be taller than someone, and this made me feel a lot more confident than I really was. I heard Dean shift on the seat behind me as if to stand up and willed him to stay down and let me sort this out by myself.

"No. I want to know what happened."

"Well I don't want to tell you."

He paused, then tried a different approach.

"Tell me what happened."

"No."

His eyes narrowed, and a sneer worthy of Malfoy appeared on his squished face.

"I reckon you don't even know what happened. I reckon you never went in. You chickened out. You'd never be able to fight Death Eaters, you're just a girl. I reckon you stood outside the whole time."

The full force of the Weasley temper exploded inside of me, swallowing every morsel of my body and filling me with hatred from the tips of my fingers to the ends of my toes. This anger was different, however. It seemed the strengthen my cool, shell-like exterior. On the outside, I sounded calm and collected and even - bored.

"And I reckon," I said, my voice slow and quiet, "that you should get out of this compartment before I hex you. Or worse."

Smith arrogance was enough to make him blind to the way my hands were shaking. He let out a snort of laughter.

"Hex me? You? Hex me? As if, Ginny Weasley. You would never have the guts, or the talent for that matter, to hex me."

I smiled and evil smile, letting the anger seep through the shell and take control of my actions.

"You wanna bet?" were the last words Zacharias Smith heard before my wand was whipped out of my pocket. Seconds later, he was screaming, high, girlish squeals and running from the compartment, giants bogeys with wings protruding from his nose and flapping around him, inflicting on him some well-deserved pain.

I laughed - well, more like cackled - aloud, feeling a sense of relief, the kind you get from squishing a really annoying fly. This too, however, was short-lived. A short, squat man with a belly as big as Brighton and a silver, walrus-like moustache now stood in the doorway of the compartment. His waistcoat was stretched to the limit over said belly and two buttons had popped open. His bald head glinted in the afternoon sunlight and from the look of shock on his aged face, he had just witnessed the whole spectacle.

I guessed this was the new Hogwarts teacher, and if it was, I was in troll-sized trouble.

"Wh- what was that?" he spluttered, his voice deep and croaky.

"Um... a hex?" I tried stupidly. The anger had seeped away and left nothing in its place; no excuses, no instincts, no brain cells. I wish it would've at least given me control of my legs so I could have made a run for it.

"Well, I know that. Effects like that, it could only be a - but what I meant was - it's impossible…" He was still tripping over his words.

It must have been really bad. I had only hexed the boy! Surely a stupid hex shouldn't cause an overreaction like that. It wasn't like it was irreversible or anything. Wait - it was still legal to do magic on the Hogwarts Express, wasn't it? I hadn't broken any major law, had I? I cast my mind back, frantically searching for any sign that the rules had changed. But then again, why would anyone tell me? Oh my god! I'd broken the International Statute of Secrecy! I'd broken the law. I was going to get arrested, locked up in Azkaban. Azkaban! Not Azkaban! What with the dementors, and the being surrounded by all that water. No, I suffered from minor seasickness! Why was the world doing this to me? Why did everyone hate the vertically challenged and the gingers? It wasn't our fault we were small!

"How old are you?" I barely heard this question in the midst of my inward babble so the new professor had to ask twice.

"Uh…" I forgot for a minute, and had to shake my head a couple of times, willing my thoughts to sort themselves out. "Fifteen." I was fifteen, right? I'd had fifteen birthdays, I was sure of it -

"Amazing," he breathed, his eyes wide and glassy. "Truly amazing."

I looked at him, blinking stupidly, then I turned round, searching for this amazing phenomenon.

"Only fifteen and already performing hexes like that, and with such polished skill and precision!" Only then did I realise, with a tsunami of relief, that a) he was talking about me and b) I wasn't going to live the rest of my life holed up in a jail cell. My mouth dropped open. "What did you say your name was?"

I could only gape, so Dean answered for me in an uncertain voice, "It's Ginny Weasley sir."

"Well, Ginny. I'll cut you a deal. I wont give you detention for hexing that boy back there, if what you did can be called a mere hex that is, if you come to a little lunch party I'm having in my compartment, how's that?"

Wait - no detention? I'd hexed Zacharias Smith and got away with it and I was being invited to lunch? Maybe the world didn't hate me so much, or maybe it was just this new teacher. He was small too - us midgets had to stick together.

I nodded, still in a daze.

"Excellent, excellent. Just marvellous. Well, I must dash, I have a few more invitations to give out. But pop down to compartment C in about five minutes, okay?"

He left the compartment without waiting for my reply and I could hear him bustling away down the corridor, his belly knocking against each compartment door as it opened.

I turned to look at the rest of the compartment, only to find ten pairs of eyes staring up at me with identical expressions that mirrored my feelings: amazement, wonder and pure shock.

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To be perfectly honest, had I had the choice, I probably would have chosen the detention. I spent the last few hours of my freedom squished next to Slughorn's massive belly, sat opposite Blaise Zambini, the smarmiest, most slimy of all Slytherin pretty-boys and staring at a dead pheasant. Luckily, Harry and Neville ended up there too, and Slughorn took the opportunity to interrogate both of them about the Ministry. He then slid into the bottom of Ginny Weasley's hit list too. So he was small, didn't mean he couldn't keep his podgy nose out of other people's business. Keep your caramelised pineapple, Slughorn, just leave us alone!

It was a relief when I finally emerged from the stuffy, cramped compartment into the moderately fresher air of the hallway. Harry and Neville were hot on my heels, and I could tell they had the same opinion of our little meeting as I did, even without Neville's mutters.

"I'm glad that's over. Strange man, isn't he?"

I nodded along with Harry, though 'strange' wasn't exactly the word I'd choose.

"Yeah, he is a bit," Harry replied in an offhand voice, staring at something in the distance. "How come you ended up in there, Ginny?"

I laughed quietly to myself, remembering my panic earlier. "He saw me hex Zacharias Smith, you remember that idiot from Hufflepuff who was in the DA?" How could he not? "He kept on and on asking about what happened at the Ministry and in the end he annoyed me so much I hexed him - when Slughorn came in I thought I was going to get detention." My cheeks flushed a bit at this blatant lie. I had been hyperventilating about being sent to Azkaban for breaking a stupid law that didn't even exist - but, Harry didn't need to know that. "But he just thought it was a really good hex and invited me to lunch! Mad, eh?" Insane, more like.

"Better reason for inviting someone than because their mother's famous, or because of their uncle - " he said darkly, scowling in the same direction he had been looking before. My stomach fluttered and my palms grew sweaty. Harry's face was beautiful, even when he was angry. Possibly even more so when he was angry. His jaw was perfectly angular and his cheekbones were pronounced and his eyes had turned a fierce dark colour and… I had to jam my mouth closed to stop a swoon from escaping.

I was so busy admiring his perfect face that I didn't notice him burrowing into his pockets until he spoke.

"I'll see you two later," he said under his breath, snapping me out of my daze. I looked around wildly to see Harry pulling his famous invisibility cloak, something I'd only seen a handful of times, over himself and Neville sporting an expression much like mine.

"But what're you - ?" Neville started, but he was cut off by a hurried whisper in Harry's voice, though he was now nowhere to be seen.

There was a silent pause in which Neville and I both scanned the nearly empty corridor. Then Neville cleared his throat slightly and said in a tentative voice,

"Harry?"

There was no answer, so he tried again, but there was still no response.

"He must've gone," I said, with an uncanny ability for pointing out the obvious.

"Yeah."

I stared up at Neville, his cheeks a lot less chubby than they had been the last time I had seen them, and realised that he towered over me a good couple of inches. I felt a wave of nostalgia wash over me. When had little Neville, the boy who'd crippled my toes in the Yule ball and toppled a shelf over in the library, gotten so bloody tall?

"Where do you reckon he went?"

I shrugged, glancing up and down the corridor as if I would find a large sign that read 'HARRY POTTER IS HERE.' When no such sign appeared I shrugged again and sighed.

"I don't know Neville." It was then that I caught sight of the wild, overgrown scenery accompanied by the odd brick cottage out of the window. I gasped, looking down at my muggle jeans and hoody. "Oh god. Sorry, Neville - I have to go and change, we'll be at Hogsmeade in about twenty minutes!"

He said something in return but I was already flying down the corridor to my compartment. When I got there Dean, Seamus, Romilda and Jason were the only ones left, and they were all changed. They greeted me as I flew through the door. Well, Romilda just sneered, but I was too rushed to care. It was going to take me ages to find my trunk, then find an empty compartment, then actually get changed -

"Here," Dean said, pulling a trunk that looked shockingly like mine forward. "I got your trunk for you, we didn't know how long you would be."

"Thank you, Dean, so much." I threw my arms around him, and then pulled away, surveying my trunk with delight.

"We're going to go up to the top of the train for a bit so you can get changed. I'll save a carriage for you."

He gave me a lovely smile and then all four of them left me alone. I locked the compartment door, pulled the blinds down and then started to strip off my muggle clothes and pull on my robes. I had my old ones still, but seeing as I had grown about a millimetre, if that, since last year, they still fitted me snugly.

I was in the middle of attempting to balance on one leg while pulling a sock onto the other, which was proving extremely difficult with the way the train was rattling so much, when a sharp rap at the door caused me to start, wobble, loose my balance and go crashing to the floor of the compartment. I swore loudly as I sat up, rubbing the spot on my head where I'd banged it on the edge of the seat and was probably going to have yet another lump. What did that make it now? Fall count two-hundred and sixty seven? Bloody hell, Ginny!

"I'm getting changed," I yelled angrily when the raps on the door continued. Didn't locked doors and closed blinds mean anything any more? The voice that came back through the door, however, made me forget about my injured head and half-on sock.

"Well, I'd have never have guessed, but I've known you way too long to care about trivial stuff like that. Now let me in!"

I flew to the door and wrenched it open, not believing my ears. But they were right. Standing in front of me was Ruth Russell, her usually shocking blonde hair a dark, chocolate brown and the smile on her face even wider than usual.

"Ruth!" I cried, throwing my arms around my best friend in a strangling hug. "What're you doing here?"

She laughed, moving into the compartment and kicking the door shut. I pulled away, a little breathless, and got a proper look at her. Her brilliant blue eyes were bright, her dark hair was falling loosely around her face in soft curls and her skin had a lovely tan. Ruth was my best friend, and had been since first year. We were like two peas in a pod, screw the third one. I hadn't seen her all summer; she'd been in New Zealand with family of hers and was meant to be there for another week.

'But - I thought you were going to miss the beginning of school!"

She smiled a mischievous smile, the twinkle in her eye never fading. "What - and miss all of the first-day gossip? I came back early, I couldn't wait to see you! Why, do you not want me back? Is there something your not telling me? You've got a new best friend, haven't you? It's Romilda, isn't it? I knew I couldn't compete with that!"

"Shut up!" I said, slapping her arm lightly. "And no, me and Romilda are not new bum chums. Far from it, actually."

She waggled her eyebrows, pulling me down onto one of the faded velvet seats. "Ooh, gossip already and it's not even ten o'clock. Tell all!"

"Ah ah," I said, shaking my head and pressing my lips together. "I'm not saying a word 'til you do. You talk, I'll dress. How was your holiday? Look at your hair!"

She ran her fingers through her loose curls. They bounced back into place afterwards, glimmering in the late afternoon light. She twirled a strand around her finger and pulled a face. "Do you like it? I wasn't so sure, but then I thought 'what the heck' and did it anyway."

I smiled at her hair. It was so different, having been used to the almost white blonde colour previously, but it definitely suited her. The dark hair framed her face and made her look a lot older than fifteen, a lot older than me.

"I do like it, it really suits you. Makes you look about twenty." She smiled a mischievous smile once more at this. "I wish I could do something to my hair," I said with a longing sigh. Ruth, however, looked shocked.

"Why would you change your hair? It's gorgeous!"

I grimaced, pulling my fingers through my fiery hair again, before saying, "My mum would kill me if I changed it anyway. She's all for the natural things." I waved my hand about airily. "But anyway, enough about me and my hair, what about your holiday? How was New Zealand?"

And then she was off on a blow-by-blow description of her six week holiday; all the places she'd been, people she'd met, things she'd done...

"What's sky diving?" I interrupted, raising my eyebrows. How did you dive in the sky? Did they have massive water baths suspended in the air? Or maybe you had to dive from really high up…

"Oh, it's this muggle sport. It's amazing, and so fun. My uncle Tom took me. It's where they take you in a helicopter, you know what one of them is, I told you last year, and you go really high, and then you jump out."

I blinked. You just jumped out? I'm no rocket sigh-entist (or whatever the muggles call them), but wouldn't plummeting to the ground from a tall height kind of - hurt? Ruth caught sight of my bewildered expression and laughed.

"No, no, no," she said, shaking her head. "You don't just jump and hope that you land on a conveniently placed mattress somewhere. God, no. You think I would've done it then?" She probably would've. "Well, yeah, I probably would've. You have a big parachute on that slows you down when you get nearer to the ground and an instructor on your back to tell you what to do and stuff. Mine was called Andy, and Merlin was he _hot_…"

Ruth was a half-blood, and her relatives in New Zealand were from her father's side, the muggle side, so most of her activities involved all these muggle inventions that fascinated me. She still hadn't finished by the time the great, red train chugged to a halt. We clambered off the train with our trunks, Ruth still talking, and I scanned the misty Hogsmeade station.

"What're you looking for?" she broke off to say.

"Dean said he'd save us a carriage…" I replied, still searching.

"Oh." And then she delved back into a story about her crazy cousin with the eyebrow piercing.

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**A/N: I know this was kind of another 'filler' chapter, but i'm sorry, it had to be there. Next chapter I promise she'll have arrived at Hogwarts, and will get a bit of a helping hand with the operation... but i'll say no more.**

**And i'm sorry to any of those people who don't like OC's, but JK Rowling says Ginny has friends, so i'm merely saving her the trouble and creating some myself. Called Ruth. So if you don't like her then... well - tough :)**

**But on a happier note, i've updated quickly! And i'd really like to know what you think of this chapter and the story as a whole, any ideas you have or any particular things you'd like to see and all other thoughts on The Monster In Her Chest. I do reply to all of my reviews, and i guess i should take this time to thank everyone who reviewed on the last chapter! I love you all very dearly :)**

**Well, this has been a rather long author's note, but why not eh?**

**Thanks again. Lots of love, SprayPaintedShoes xoxoxox**


	8. Chapter 8: Shut Up, Foolish Voice!

**A/N: Okay, this is a big chapter! Nearly 8000 words :o So that's my exuse for not having updated in a while, plus I was camping for my DofE. In the rain.**

**POINTLESS PIECE OF HARRY POTTER TRIVIA: Ginny Weasley's birthday is on the 11th August, which is the same day as mine! Me and Harry were destined to be :)**

**Disclaimer: I'm not JK Rowling, I don't own Harry Potter. I'm SprayPaintedShoes (just incase you were wondering).**

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Chapter 8 - Shut Up, Foolish Voice!

"Hey," Ruth said to me after the sorting had finished and the golden platters in front of us had been filled with mouth-watering food that made my empty stomach ache and grumble. I had been absently searching for Harry, who appeared to be missing from the hall. "You never told me about the whole thing with Romilda."

She was staring at the bitch in question on the table next to ours. I followed her gaze to find Vane leaning over the table, the top three buttons of her shirt undone, attempting to flirt with a seventh year who, by the looks of it, was paying more attention to his pork chop than to her. I sighed, stabbing my fork at my potatoes, and began to retell this morning's spectacle.

"The cow!" Ruth said in a loud whisper when I'd finished, glaring at the oblivious Romilda. "She was feeling his chest?"

"I'm talking full-on stroking," I said, shivering in disgust. "It was revolting."

"That girl has got some serious cheek! Who does she think she is?"

"Someone a guy like Dean would even consider?" I shrugged. "She's delusional. And mean."

It was then that I heard Hermione and Ron bickering a few seats down. I was sitting next to Dean, who was involved in a heated debate with Neville and Seamus about the usual 'quidditch versus football' (- "But football's just so _boring_! No one _ever_ dies!" "Exactly! You won't understand the magic of football until you've seen a match." "I like Herbology." "... that's nice, Neville.") and were oblivious to anything else around them.

"Well, did he tell you he was going to miss the feast?" Hermione was hissing angrily. Ron was shaking his head, his mouth full of mash. He tried to speak, failed, gulped down his food and started again.

"I'm telling you Hermione, he didn't say anything. And Neville said he just ran off. I don't know what's happened!"

"Well neither do I!" Hermione's voice was growing shriller by the minute, something it did when she was nervous. Or angry. Or, well, whenever. Hermione was quite a shrill fellow. "Anything could have happened to him!"

Ron looked worried too, and after casting a glance around the table and catching me watching him, he lowered his voice, though not low enough for me to miss.

"Well, let's think about this. He was on the Hogwarts Express, nothing ever happens on the Hogwarts Express!"

"The dementors got on in third year, and Harry fainted then," Hermione pointed out, and when Ron looked ready to object, she rushed on, "And this is You-Know-Who we're talking about, who knows what he could've done! Why oh why did they not have anyone watching him?" She stared around the hall wildly, as if expecting it to give her some hint to Harry's whereabouts, and then said in the same shrill whisper, "he could be anywhere!"

"Harry's a big boy," Ron replied, placing a rather hesitant hand on Hermione's shoulder in what he supposed was a soothing manner. "He can look after himself, I'm sure he's fine."

Before Hermione could object the doors of the Great Hall were thrown open and, lo' and behold, in walked Harry. But his expression was fierce and he had dried blood covering his nose and t-shirt. I had to stop myself from flinging myself at him. What had happened? He was obviously hurt! Who would want to hurt Harry Potter?

Stupid question, Ginny.

He made it to the Gryffindor table with uncommon speed and as soon as he sat down Hermione and Ron practically jumped on him with their questions. Hermione siphoned off the dried blood and shrieked at him for answers, but he was talking too quietly. His eyes flickered from the spoon he was checking his nose in to me and my stomach dropped to the floor. They then flickered to all the people watching him, and he whispered to Hermione in a low voice something that sounded a lot like "later!"

I turned back round to Ruth, who had been watching Harry too, and raised my eyebrows. She shrugged back at me, though our conversation was halted by Dumbledore's speech.

I wasn't really paying attention to any of it - I was too busy watching Harry, still doubtful about his safety, and only began to listen when Harry's jaw opened.

"No!" he protested loudly. I turned around instantly, casting my gaze towards the staff table as his was. Someone was making Harry exclaim in a raised voice? How very dare they! I looked around for any indication of what had happened, but Ruth answered my unspoken question for me.

"Snape is going to be Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher? Snape?"

I looked at her, my mouth wide. The fork I'd been holding fell from my limp hand, bounced off the table and landing on Dean's foot. He winced.

Ruth must've heard wrong. Dumbledore'd never do that. He was a bit barmy, yes, but not insane. But everyone else was now discussing it too, most with the same horrified expression. I looked up at Dumbledore's calm face. Snape as Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher? But I actually liked DADA! He was going to make it pure Hell! Could this year get any worse?

"What does Dumbledore think he's doing?" I cried, staring round the table at an equally shocked Ruth and Dean, who was rubbing his toe.

"God knows," he muttered, glaring up at Dumbledore. "Snape's a bloody Death Eater!" He said the last words in a whisper. Snape's past wasn't common knowledge around the school. I knew because of the Order, and Dean and Ruth because of the DA.

"And anyone who says he's changed is just wrong. Leopards don't change their spots."

I nodded at Ruth's statement, though I didn't see how animals related to this topic, glowering up at Snape's triumphant expression.

"Plus the fact that he's going to make DADA Hell for us. You know that, right? Pure Hell."

"It was bad enough him being Potions master," Dean said.

"It was bad enough him even being here. No one even likes him. Why doesn't he just get the idea into his greasy head and _leave_?"

I couldn't help but laugh at Ruth's hissed insults. Dumbledore cleared his throat and the majority of the hall, who had been busy babbling between themselves, fell silent.

He began to talk about You-Know-Who. The silence seemed to grow heavier, pressing over my mouth and nose and making it harder to breathe. He talked about our protection, but that didn't ease my panic at all. Sure, we were safe inside the thick walls of Hogwarts, but what about everyone else? My mum and dad, my brothers, my friends. What about them? And what about after? We couldn't stay hidden in Hogwarts forever. Some day, we'd have to face the dangerous world outside. And I couldn't help but feel an overwhelming sense of sadness as I looked at Harry, knowing that for him, that day could be closer than we all thought.

He finished with a cheery "pip pip!" that seemed to drown the tension in the room. There was the deafening scrape of benches moving back as the population of the hall headed for their dormitories.

I passed Harry on the way, who was fiddling with his laces, and squeezed out of the large wooden doors, Ruth, Dean and Seamus behind me. Dean edged closer, saying in a low voice,

"So what do you reckon happened to Harry? It looked like his nose was broken."

I shrugged, having forgotten all about it after Dumbledore's announcements. Then a loud, whiney voice came from behind us.

"I heard he got cornered by a load of You-Know-Who's Inferi who tried to pull him to pieces, but then he managed to kill them all with one of his own made up spells and fly away on his Firebolt."

How the hell had Vane 'heard' it? It had only happened five minutes ago!

"On the Hogwarts express?" Ruth asked, her eyebrows raised with sarcasm.

"And how do you kill something that's already dead?"

Romilda glared at Ruth and I and then turned and flounced off to her Vane-bots, swaying her hips over-enthusiastically in a way which I presumed was meant for Dean.

"God, if she wiggled her hips anymore they'd be in two different time zones," I muttered darkly.

"They already are in two different time zones," Ruth spat out, still glaring at Vane's back. I laughed aloud.

"Look who's being the bitch now!"

She just grinned cheekily, flashing me her pearly-white teeth. I shook my head at her as the current of black-robed students pulled us up the marble staircase. Snippets of conversation passed me by, and it sounded as if Romilda wasn't the only one who had 'heard' what had happened to Harry.

"I heard there was a troll involved…"

"Broken in four places!"

"He was right here! You-Know-Who!"

"The trolley-lady lost her leg…"

"I told you I heard suspicious banging!"

"I wonder if there's any apple pie left…"

"You-Know-Who snuck on disguised as a cauldron cake…"

"I'll bet my left toe he's still here!"

"Potter's scar exploded!"

"He was saved by several wackspurts and a rouge nargle…"

I manoeuvred my self in the direction of the last voice, a wide grin painting my face when I saw my other best friend, Luna Lovegood. Her dirty-blonde hair was piled on top of her head, her round glassy blue eyes were wide as she talked to a rather terrified looking first-year and she was sporting her butterbeer-cork necklace for the occasion.

"Luna!" I cried. She turned at my voice, the first-year using the distraction to perform a speedy escape.

"Oh. Hello, Ginny. Hello, Ruth, Dean, Seamus." Her dreamy voice was soft as she smiled at us all, and we squeezed into a sort of one-armed hug. "How are you? I didn't see you on the platform. I was busy talking to Terry about the differences between fresh-water Plimpies and salt-water -"

"We're fine, Luna," I cut across her.

"That's good. I heard there was a bout of jingouitis going around."

"Jing-wee-itis?" Seamus echoed in an incredulous voice. Luna nodded her head over-enthusiastically.

"Mhm. It's a super-virus that renders the victims toes completely motionless. Total lack of balance. There was an epidemic in south Wales; people wobbling everywhere. Very contagious."

There was a pause in which we all stared at Luna, who was still nodding her head. Dean broke this silence with a discreet cough, looking around at Seamus with a meaningful expression.

"Well, we're tired. We're going to go to bed. Night everyone." He nudged Seamus in the direction of the portrait hole we had somehow ended up outside. Then he leant down and brushed his lips across my cheek and followed his best friend. I watched them leave and then turned to the two remaining girls. Ruth was smirking at me.

"Uhm." I cleared my throat. "Isn't your common room at the other end of the castle, Luna?"

She looked around as if only just realising where she was.

"So it is."

Ruth laughed and then shook her head. "Never mind, you can stay in our dormitory for our while. Ellie and Rose are never there anyway."

With that, she led the way through the portrait hole. The Fat Lady eyed Luna's blue and black robes, but let her through nonetheless. It was a strange relief to reach the familiarity of our dormitory, with my four-poster bed looking as warm and inviting as ever. And plus, the room didn't smell of chickens. It smelled nice actually - was that lavender?

I flopped down on my bed, noting the absence of the other two girls in our dorm. They never spent much time in the dormitory, though no one knew specifically where they went. A little fishy if you asked me, not that anyone ever did. Ruth dropped onto her bed, and Luna onto the floor between us, crossing her legs and picking at her fingernails.

I yawned, pulling off my cloak and throwing it over the bottom of my bed while Ruth replayed her holiday to Luna.

"What's this?" I heard Luna's voice question, but I presumed she was talking to Ruth, so I continued to dig through my trunk. I had already freed Arnold, my brand new purple Pygmy Puff, from his cage. He was now perched next to my right ear on my shoulder. I had to admit, Fred was right about the brains. No pink fluff ball could've made it's way up there. I should teach him more tricks, like how to bring me hot chocolate and steal Vane's fake eyelashes.

"Ginny?" I turned at the sound of my name. Luna was holding up a piece of crumpled parchment with my slanted scrawl on it. My eyebrows furrowed as I moved closer to take and examine it, and then my face turned white in recognition.

Oh no. Oh no, no, no.

No, no, no! This wasn't happening!

My other hand shot to my skirt pocket, which was empty. Then I realised that I'd shoved my to-do list into my cloak pocket, which was now crumpled into a pile on the floor. The parchment must've fallen out when I'd flung it. And now, with no way of concealing it, I was positively screwed.

Luna was now peering over my shoulder at the parchment with Ruth mimicking her on the other side.

"And what's Operation: G.H.T.N.M.A.S.T.O.M.A.J.H.B.F.L.S.B.T.H.M.L.A.F.T.R.I.H.B.M.B.A.M.B.E.H?" She took the liberty of spelling it out fully while I remained frozen, the parchment poised in my hand. Two quizzical faces turned to me, and again, I panicked.

What was I meant to do? On the train I'd had a moment of spontaneous genius, something that didn't happen often! Plus I couldn't even remember what I'd said. Something to do with squibs? I couldn't tell them about the operation, they'd think I was crazy! Maybe I was crazy. Maybe I needed to be sent to Mungo's; holed up in a padded cell for the rest of my life. They'd feed me of cheese from a tube. I didn't like cheese from a tube. Against cheese from a tube, overly-buttered bread was like heaven. Why did I even write it down? I couldn't even blame anyone else, I completely brought this on myself! Why do you do this to yourself, Ginny?

They continued to stare at me, waiting for an answer I had no hope of giving. The room seemed to stop, hold its breath and wait.

The door banged open, making all three of us jump. The parchment fell from my loosened grasp and fluttered to the floor.

"Ginny, I found your socks in my trunk. You must've -"

Hermione looked up from the clothing in her hands to the three of us, taking in our equally shocked expressions and motionless forms. She hesitated, and then said in a whisper,

"Did I come at a bad time?"

Ruth was the first to recover, shaking her head. "No, no. We were just looking at -" She glanced at my empty hand and then frowned. I saw the parchment out of the corner of my eye and took a subtle step to the left, covering it with my feet. My manoeuvre obviously wasn't as subtle as I'd thought, however, as Ruth raised her eyebrows at me, smiling.

"Move your foot, Ginny."

"Why should I?"

"Because the piece of parchment's underneath it."

I looked at her, wide eyed and innocent, trying to shuffle my feet back at the same time. Maybe if I got closer to the bed I could kick it under. Then, I'd 'accidentally' throw a match over the bed, setting it on fire, and then that would then collapse onto the parchment and hopefully burn that too. But then I'd be bedless, and that wouldn't be too good. Oh well, I'd share with Ruth.

"No it's not."

"Yes it is."

"S'not."

"Ginny, stop being childish. Lift your foot."

"Give me a valid reason why my foot being in this spot is affecting you so much and I will. Until such thing is present I refuse."

I wasn't prepared for what came next. With a swiftness I didn't know she possessed, Ruth lunged forward and wrapped her arms round my waist, knocking the wind out of me and tackling me to the floor. We both landed with a painful thud on the hard, wooden floor. I raised myself to my elbows, rubbing a sore spot on my head and wincing. Now that was a little uncalled for!

Ruth, however, had grabbed the dusty parchment and had it raised above her head in victory, grinning.

"Anyway," she continued after I'd struggled to my feet and limped over to the bed. "As I was saying, we were just looking at this." She brandished the parchment at Hermione, who took it with a curious interest. She scanned the first line, and I watched in horror as her mouth dropped open. Damn Hermione's brains!

"That's a little extreme, don't you think? I know Romilda's a little annoying, Ginny, but you don't have to kill her!"

Wait, what? She thought Romilda was a bit annoying? That was the understatement of the century! That was an understatement of the word understatement. It took me a while to register the fact that Hermione had not revealed my true insanity with her quick thinking. I didn't have time to rejoice however, as Ruth had given an impatient wave of the hand.

"No, the next one. The Operation whatever it was."

"Operation: G.H.T.N.M.A.S.T.O.M.A.J.H.B.F.L.S.B.T.H.M.L.A.F.T.R.I.H.B.M.B.A.M.B.E.H" Luna recited in a dreamy voice. There was a moment of silence in which we all stared at our eccentric friend, still sitting cross legged on the floor. Then, our attention refocused.

"Operation?" Hermione quizzed, looking at the two of us. Ruth nodded, taking the sheaf of parchment back and gesturing to the 7th line of writing.

"Operation - well, you heard Luna. It obviously stands for something, but I can't for the life of me figure it out."

I buried my head in my hands. This was all so awful. They were dragging it out just to torture me, I knew they were. Why couldn't they just humiliate me to death quickly and go on with their lives?

"Wait a second," Hermione said, making my head snap up. She had her hand held out for the parchment, which Ruth handed back without hesitation. She read it again, mouthing the letters a couple of times over, the line between her eyebrows more prominent. Then she raised her head and stared solidly at me, her voice incredulous.

"Is this about Harry?"

My mouth popped open into the perfect 'o' shape. Okay, there was something seriously not right going on with Hermione's brain.

"How did you know?" The shock in my voice made it plain how accurate she was.

"I'm right?" She seemed both surprised and pleased.

"Well, you tell me!"

"It's about Harry Potter?" Luna asked, rising gracefully to her feet to peer at the parchment once more. Who knew such a small piece of parchment could cause such stress? Maybe someone should just ban Ginny Weasley from using parchment at all, save people all the trouble.

"How many other Harry's do we know?" Ruth said to her over her shoulder with a touch of impatience.

"I have a second-uncle called Harry Cornwall." We ignored her, with nothing to reply to that.

"But, what about Harry?" Ruth said, looking again at Hermione. She shrugged, and then looked at me for answers. When I continued to stare solidly at the bathroom door she sighed and sat down next to me, Ruth on my other side.

"Are you going to tell us?"

I shook my head, keeping my mouth pressed together. As if I was a going to tell them. One word and I'd be shipped off in a straight jacket to the mattress room.

"Ginny," Ruth wined, ducking her face down so that I had to look at her. "Tell us. We're your best friends!"

"Best friends that are going to ship me off to an asylum before I can say 'cauldron cakes'," I muttered under my breath, tilting my head upwards to avoid her blue-eyed stare. There was a pause.

"What?"

I sighed a long, heavy sigh, blowing my fringe out of my eyes.

"You're going to think I'm crazy."

"We already think your crazy, Ginny," Ruth said in a soft voice, but I heard the hint of humour. Hermione's mouth was turned up at the corners, and Luna was nodding enthusiastically. "Go on. Tell us what it's about."

I sucked in a deep breath, puffed out my cheeks and then blew out noisily. I was going to have to tell them eventually, they were never going to give up. Well, unless of course Hermione somehow knew what the operation was about. I wouldn't be surprised.

"Well," I said, picking at the invisible fluff on the deep, red blanket. "The operation is about… um, it's about…" I took another deep breath, fearing my lungs might pop from all the air I was forcing into them. "Well, it's about Harry. Bloody Harry. Bloody amazing, kind, funny, intelligent, gorgeous Harry."

All three girls looked at me; Hermione with pity in her eyes, Ruth looking like she didn't know what to say and Luna looking relieved.

"Well, we're obviously not talking about my uncle Harry then, because he's not much of a looker."

I couldn't help but smile at her while Ruth and Hermione tried to stifle their giggles. Then Ruth cleared her throat and said,

"Okay, I think we've established that we're talking about Harry Potter. And I think we've also established how… nice he is. But I still don't understand fully, Ginny…"

"Alright, alright," I cried, throwing my hands down in a frustration. "Fine! I like Harry, as in like like Harry. Really like like Harry, and I have no idea what to do about it." I flopped back onto the bed, throwing my hands up above my head. "What can I do about it? He's Harry, and I'm - I'm Ginny Weasley. Ron's little sister, the ginger with the short temper. Harry likes girls like Cho Chang, how am I meant to compete with that?" My voice had reached hysteria, and I was looking wildly at the three girls, who were staring speechlessly back at me.

"Ginny, I -" Ruth started, but I cut across her by sitting up and sighing.

"Look, there's no point now. The operation was all about me getting Harry to like me, and become my boyfriend, but we all know that that is not going to happen. So we might as well give up."

"So, you definitely do like Harry?"

"You already knew," I replied to Hermione. "I told you at the beginning of the summer, remember?"

"You never really told me whether you did or didn't like him, just said you were annoyed with the way he saw you. I can't just figure out things like this, I'm no genius."

Pah, I beg to differ.

"So basically," Luna concluded, perching herself on the edge of the bed, which had become quite cramped. "You want Harry as your boyfriend?"

I nodded glumly, hiding my face with a curtain of my hair and resuming my duvet-picking.

"Well then," Hermione said after a long pause, "how are we going to do that?"

My hand froze, hovering over the red blanket. I looked up slowly, saying cautiously, "Do what?"

She looked at me as if I were stupid. "Get Harry, obviously!"

My mouth dropped open in shock, and I stared at the other two girls, who seemed to understand Hermione completely. And, by the look on Ruth's face, agree with her.

"What do you mean, _get Harry_?"

"Look, Ginny," Hermione said, her voice more subdued now. "Harry's my best friend, and apart from the two and a half week 'thing' with Cho, he hasn't had much luck with girls. He needs something to take his mind off everything that's happening outside of Hogwarts, and there's only so much Ron and I can do. And personally, I think you're the perfect person for Harry. Exactly what he needs."

I gazed at her, my eyes wide. She thought that Harry needed me, too? As much as I needed him? I didn't think that was physically possible.

"I'm guessing that you care about Harry enough to want to help him out." Ruth's voice was soft now, and she had a sincere smile on her face. I tried to smile back, but my body was still in shock.

"We know she cares about him enough," Luna said, her mouth in a crooked grin. I took in another deep breath. If my lungs were going to pop, they might as well pop thoroughly.

"So wait, we're really going to do this?" I was really going to try and make Harry my boyfriend? It wasn't just going to be a little fantasy inside my head any more, my friends were going to make it real. My body was tingling with a new found excitement, or the excess of oxygen in my lungs. Either one. All three girls smiled widely at me, nodding.

"Sure we are!"

"Well," I paused, gulped and then shook my head. Rather than sorting my thoughts out, this just made me nauseous. I shouldn't have had so much pie. "Bloody hell. But, how? How are we going to do it?"

"Exactly my question," Hermione said, he voice brisk and business like. She sat up straight on the bed and the rest of us settled ourselves around her in a circle. "Right, first things first, we need to come up with a better name for this, so we can refer to it in public without other people becoming suspicious."

"Why will we need to refer to it in public?" I worried allowed, though no one answered me.

"Why can't we just call it Operation: G.H.T.N.M.A.S.T.O.M.A.J.H.B.F.L.S.B.T.H.M.L.A.F.T.R.I.H.B.M.B.A.M.B.E.H?" Luna asked.

"Because no one can remember that."

"I can."

"No one but you, Luna," Ruth replied, smirking. "Are you ever going to tell us what that stands for, anyway?"

I shook my head. "Nope."

"Why not?"

"It's embarrassing."

"I bet it's not that embarrassing."

"It is too, now can we get back to the subject?"

"Good idea, Ginny," Hermione said. "But we still need a name."

The group lapsed into a silent muse, and when nothing had come up after a couple of minutes, I said,

"How about Operation: Squib?" All three girls looked at me with strange looks. I faltered. "Did I not tell you about that?" I said hesitantly, and when three heads shook in my direction, I sighed, and, after inwardly kicking myself for ever mentioning it, I told them about Dean's reaction to the parchment.

"Dean saw it?" Ruth said after I'd finished, astounded. I nodded meekly, cursing my own stupidity again.

"And you made up an organisation called Help the Squibs?" Luna asked, laughing. At least someone found it funny.

"It was worse than that. I started talking about acting jobs and lonely squibs and all that nonsense! I just said the first thing that came into my head!"

"Ginny!" Ruth cried, pulling at her glossy locks in desperation. "What have I told you about doing that?"

I silenced her with a well-aimed pillow.

"Well, it was a good idea you did think up something otherwise you'd have been in a pretty tricky situation with Dean," said Hermione, smiling reassuringly at me before putting on her business-like manner once more. "Which brings us onto our next point: your current boyfriend."

I groaned, dropping my head into my hands and rubbing my eyes furiously. "I hoped we wouldn't get onto that part tonight."

"Do you still like him?"

"Yes! No. Oh, I don't know!" I wailed.

"You can't keep changing your mind like this, Ginny."

"Yes I can, I'm a teenager! It's what we do!"

Luna chuckled, then placed a soothing hand over mine. "It'll be okay Ginny, just take a deep breath and calm down. You're hyperventilating."

I was? I hadn't noticed. How odd.

"I know, let's break it down, step by step," Ruth said slowly, making me feel like a four-year old. Not the best thing for one's self-esteem. "What do you like about Dean?"

"Well, he's… he's Dean! Funny, cute, good-looking. Plus, he makes me laugh and he makes me smile, and he really cares about me. He's the perfect boyfriend." I found that a smile had crept on my face by the time I'd finished, which was hastily wiped off by a small, annoying voice in the back of my mind.

_But is he your perfect boyfriend?_

Shut up, foolish voice, no one asked you!

"And what about Harry? What do you like about him?"

I dropped my head, my cheeks flushing as I whispered, "Everything."

I guessed the silence from the three girls meant that for once, they'd run themselves dry of advice, or they were in shock - they probably hadn't expected my crush on Harry to be quite so big. Either way, it was hopeless. It wasn't as simple as striking up a conversation with Harry and hoping we ended up married, there were other factors to consider. Mainly Dean.

"It's hopeless!" I whined, throwing my face into a pillow to muffle my aggravated growl. "I don't want to break up with Dean, because I really do like him, and if things go terribly with Harry then it'll just mean I'm alone again, which is even worse. And I don't want to forget about Harry because it's - it's impossible."

I attempted to suffocate myself with a pillow again, but Ruth pulled my arm down and threw the pillow away.

"Hey now, lets not be so pessimistic. Maybe you can just, and this is going to sound pretty strange, but maybe you can just have… both?"

"Both?" I echoed along with Hermione and Luna.

"Yeah, both. Don't break up with Dean, but get Harry at the same time. You've only been going out with Dean for a month or two, and most of that you didn't even see him, it's too early to make any hasty decisions on whether you like him enough or not. You don't want to end up doing something you'll regret."

And it wouldn't be the first time.

"But wouldn't Dean notice if Ginny's flirting with Harry while she's still in a relationship with him?"

My palms began to sweat at the word 'flirt' but I wasn't given enough time to worry about that aspect.

"Not necessarily," interjected Luna, a small smile on her face. "The first thing Ginny's going to have to do is become friends with Harry anyway, which won't make Dean too suspicious, just possibly a little jealous. And after that, well - it just depends on how subtly Ginny can flirt." She smirked at me, a devious look in her eye that made me scowl.

"Well there's our third big problem: I can't flirt."

Ruth scoffed loudly but remained silent. I looked at her pointedly, my eyebrows raised. She caught my look and sighed.

"Oh, come on, Ginny, of course you can flirt!" My disbelieving look stated otherwise. "How did you manage to bag Dean then?"

"Still trying to figure that one out, actually!"

"It was all the flirting you did before the summer! You know, hanging out with him and laughing at his jokes and all that jazz."

"You mean being friendly?" I questioned, my brows furrowed in confusion.

"I mean flirting!"

"It wasn't flirting! It was at the end of the year party, we were dancing and then he kissed me. And that was all there was to it."

"What about all the flirting you did before that?" Ruth pressed.

"I didn't do any flirting!"

"So that means that you do it without even thinking about it, which is equally great! You don't have any work to do!"

Apart from that making _absolutely _no sense, my head was getting pretty full with the amount of information being forced into it. I squeezed my eyes shut and rubbed my temples, trying to clear my head, but with no success.

"Give her a break, Ruth. She's distressed," I heard Luna's soft voice say as she rubbed my back in soothing circles. I felt a surge of gratitude towards her and her butterbeer necklace.

"She's not distressed, she's just stressed out," Ruth said in offhand voice, and if my eyes had been open I probably would have seen her waving her hand round in her carelessly Ruth manner. Stressed, distressed - what was the difference?

"And I'm beginning to get confused," I heard Hermione's voice chime in, and I raised my hand in a gesture that I meant to mean me too, but probably just looked like I'd lost control of my limbs, which, if people kept cramming my head full with stuff, was sure to happen. I heard her rifling around in my trunk and I raised my head to find her emerging with a piece of parchment (which had become my new enemy, along with butter) and a quill. She caught me looking at them, and then added as an afterthought,

"Oh, can I borrow these?"I nodded meekly, not having the energy to say anything else. "Good."

Then she began to write a large title on the top in her tidy scrawl. I had to twist my head almost upside down to read it, which proved to be pretty painful.

_OPERATION: SQUIB_

She underlined it, then set the quill down, looking instantly satisfied. I, however, felt the opposite.

"We're writing it down?" I asked, unable to keep the scepticism out of my voice.

"Mhm," Hermione answered me, not catching my tone. "This way, we know exactly what we're going to do, so no one will be confused, and things can be done a lot more efficiently and swiftly."

"But I don't have a lot of luck when it comes to writing things down."

Hermione looked up from the parchment, her eyebrows furrowing. "Hm?"

"If it wasn't for a certain piece of parchment" - I looked pointedly at my to-do list, which was still lying on the floor - "I'd be nice and cosily asleep in bed now, not worrying about my stupid, pointless love life."

"Well I'm not going to be so careless with this piece of parchment - no one except us four is going to be able to read it."

"And how to you plan to do that?"

"Easily," she said brightly, pulling her wand out from her cloak pocket. We all watched in a mixture of curiosity and awe as she lay the parchment on the bed between the four of us, tapped it with the tip of her wand and muttered a spell I didn't catch. It glowed a pale blue, illuminating the shock on three faces and the approval on the other.

"All four of us need to touch it at the same time," she instructed in a whisper. She hovered her hand over the parchment, gesturing for us to copy her. I took a deep breath as she counted down from three, then when signalled, pressed my hand to the thick paper. The blue glow shone white for a split second, then disappeared, leaving the same sheet of parchment on the bed.

Well that was an anticlimax. I don't know what I'd expected to happen. Secretly, I'd hoped it might blow up. But, being a Weasley, I had no such luck.

"There," Hermione said with a triumphant smile, picking up the parchment. "Now if anyone that's not one of us four tries to read it, they'd just see a plain sheet of parchment."

"Wow," Ruth said in an impressed tone. "Where'd you learn to do that?"

"_Cunningly Clever Concealment Charms_," Hermione replied simply, adding on when she saw our faces, "I got it out from the library at the end of last year for some light reading."

"That's one way to spend your summer," Ruth muttered to me in an undertone, and I couldn't help but giggle. Hermione scowled, making me giggle even more as Ruth laughed out an apology. She wrote a quick summary of the operation under the title, and then raised her head and looked at all three of us.

"Okay, so how are we going to do this?"

"Well, how do you normally get a guy to ask you out?" Ruth asked, and when a cricket-chirping-filled silence followed, she turned to the oldest girl. "How did you get Krum to be your boyfriend?"

"Victor was never my boyfriend," Hermione said quickly in a flustered voice.

"He basically was," Ruth interjected. "So how'd you do it?"

"It was mostly his work. He just came up to me and asked me to the Yule Ball. I didn't do anything out of the ordinary, I just carried out my normal daily routine while he watched me."

"So Ginny has to spend all of her time in the library and yelling at Ronald?"

Hermione gave Luna a flat look as Ruth and I snorted behind our hands. "I do not spend all my time yelling at Ronald!"

"Well of course not," I said, "They don't allow raised voices in the library."

This time, Ruth couldn't contain her snort. She was laughing so much she didn't notice Hermione throwing the pillow until it hit her smack in the face, and due to all the giggling, made her loose her balance and topple backwards off the bed. It was a strangely satisfying knowing I wasn't the only one who fell off beds.

Hermione gave a victorious "humph!" and then went back to business.

"Any more ideas?"

"Let's go back to basics. Forget this is Harry and Ginny. The main way to get someone interested in you is to flirt, right?" Ruth said, once she'd regained control and seated herself one the bed.

There were a few cautious nods, though I was beginning to feel queasy again. I really couldn't flirt, I wasn't like one of those girls who could just bat an eyelash and have guys falling at her knees. I was the girl who bobbed the wrong way in a hug, got salad stuck between her teeth and snorted into her pumpkin juice! How was I supposed to get Harry Potter to like me?

When I voiced this problem again though, Ruth gave an impatient sigh.

"It's easy, Ginny! Well it will be for you, anyway."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, a) you're gorgeous, b) you have that natural likeability factor around you and 3) I'm already convinced you can do it."

_Oh, stop!_

I blushed and mumbled some objections, but she wasn't having any of it.

"Oh, do hush, Ginny. And since you insist you don't know how to flirt, we're going to help you."

She sat up a little straighter on the bed, flipping her hair over her shoulder.

"Number one, get him to notice you."

"That's not really flirting," I protested.

"Well that's what you've got to do before you flirt, 'cus there's no point flirting if he can't see you, stupid. You'd be wasting your energy. But, as I was saying before I was so rudely interrupted" - she looked pointedly at me - "You need to get him to notice you. Not in a stupid way, like stealing Romilda Vane's wardrobe, but just be, um…"

"Conscious of your appearance," Hermione offered when Ruth trailed off.

"Yeah, that's good. Don't go over the top, but make sure you do look nice."

I looked down at my school robes. Was she implying that I didn't usually look nice? Wow, what a self esteem boost, eh. Ruth saw my doubt and added on hurriedly,

"Not that you don't always look nice! Because you do."

"Girls with too short skirts and countless layers of makeup are mostly the ones who try to flirt with Harry, so if he sees a girl being herself and being natural, it's going to be a nice change for him and he's going to go for that, not for the girl who's acting like everyone else," Hermione said.

"And then once you've got him to notice you, you can strike up a conversation with him, which shouldn't be too hard because you're already pretty good friends with Harry. Don't make it too complicated, just some simple small talk."

"Oh, and use questions," Luna cut in excitedly, "So he's bound to answer. But not too demanding questions so he thinks your trying to steal his identity, just stuff like 'nice day for quidditch, don't you think?'"

"Good, Luna. Make it something he's interested in. And then, when your talking to him, you have to act right. Act flirty, but not too obviously flirty, because you do have a boyfriend and people may get suspicious. Give him compliments, boys like compliments."

"And play with your hair," Hermione added. "Tuck it behind your ear, twirl it round your finger, run your fingers through it, you know."

"But don't scratch it, that makes you look like you have head lice."

"And smile. Smile and laugh, 'cus it makes you look confident, and you know the best thing a girl can wear is confidence!"

Nice cliché there, Ruth.

"And it can help with awkward moments."

"And bat your eyelashes!"

"But not so it looks like you have something stuck in your eye."

"And brush your hand across his arm or something, but not in too much of an obvious way."

"Ooh!" Ruth cried out, proof of how over excited all three girls were getting. "Give him _The Look_."

"_The Look_?" I echoed sceptically. I didn't like the sound of this look. It rhymed far too well with The Book.

"Yeah, you know, the sexy mysterious look. Where you glance at him from across a room, or look at him through your eyelashes."

"But don't stare, 'cus that's just creepy."

"Right, Luna. Only quick glances."

"But not too quick! Or it looks like you have a twitch!"

"Mhm. Have you got all that, Ginny?"

"Um," I managed. My head was spinning with all of this extra information. Most of it had gone in one ear and toppled out of the other anyway, they'd been saying it so quickly.

"It doesn't matter, I've written it down for you, anyway," Hermione announced with a satisfied smile, offering me the piece of parchment, now covered in writing.

_OPERATION: SQUIB_

_Operation Squib: to get Harry Potter and Ginny Weasley together._

_How to do:_

_1) Get Harry to notice you more by being conscious of your appearance._

_2) Strike up a conversation with him about a topic he's interested in, so he sees that you're not the shy little girl you used to be, but a confident young woman._

_3) Subtly flirt with him in the following ways:_

_- Asking questions about him._

_- Playing with your hair._

_- Smile and laugh._

_- Gentle touches on his arm, for example._

_- 'The Look.'_

"It's just a quick summary of what we've said tonight, and it's not fully finished, but it should be helpful if you forget."

"Thanks, Hermione," I said gratefully, trying to stifle my yawn with my hand. I must've done this pretty badly though, as Hermione's eyes found the clock in the corner of the room. She yelped.

"It's quarter to twelve!" she gasped, jumping up from the bed. "We have our first lessons tomorrow! I can't be falling asleep in them!" Typical Hermione. "And you three should get some sleep, too. We'll carry on with the operation another time this week, okay?"

Ruth nodded, the infectious yawn commanding her too. "We'll talk to you about it tomorrow morning."

"Yeah, okay. Are you coming, Luna? Are you going to be able to get back to your common room? You might get caught."

"I'll be fine," Luna said in her dreamy voice, "if anyone catches me I'll tell them I was sleepwalking. It worked last time."

They bade us tonight and headed towards the door, only to jump back in fright when it swung open just as Hermione reached for the handle.

"Oh, sorry!" Ellie gasped, running to help Luna up, who had tripped on the curtain of Rose's four poster and was now sprawled in a heap on the floor. Maybe my falling problems were contagious. Maybe I should try to stay away from people.

"Did we interrupt anything?" Rose asked, glancing at me and Ruth on my bed, then at Hermione and Luna.

"No, no," Hermione assured them with a small smile. "We were just going to bed, it's late. Night everyone."

With another quick wave, the two girls departed. Ruth clambered off my bed, stretching out and yawning once more.

"Well, I'm going to turn in, I'm shattered." She moved towards her bed, but I stopped her before she could get too far, saying in a quiet voice that wouldn't reach Ellie or Rose,

"Um, thanks, Ruth. For, you know. Helping me."

She smiled a sincere smile. "Don't mention it." Then, a cheeky grin replaced the smile as she said, "I think it's fun!"

I grimaced, closing my curtains around my bed to change as she hopped into hers. I wouldn't exactly describe the whole thing as 'fun'. Nerve wracking, yes, complicating, maybe, but not fun. Well, it'd possibly be fun in the end, if it worked. It'd be amazing if it worked, because Harry would be my boyfriend. But even though I couldn't see the chances of it happening being very high, I had faith in my friends, who said they were going to help me.

My friends might've been a little crazy at times, Luna especially, but they did come in handy occasionally.

* * *

**A/N: I had fun writing this chapter :) Luna makes me giggle so much, I do love her.**

**Please review to tell me how you found it. I know I must sound like a broken record player (REVIEW... REVIEW... REVIEW...) but they really do help. They make me feel happy :) So muchas gracias to everyone who reviewed on the last chapter!**

**And, before I forget, if you're bored and looking for something else to read, take a look at another story I recently posted, The List. It's another humour about the marauders, who i've always loved :)**

**Happy Halloween! Lots of love, SprayPaintedShoes. xoxoxox**


	9. Chapter 9: Iceskating Wigs and Lizards

**A/N****: I'm such a terrible author who doesn't update her stories frequently enough. But I've had so much stuff on lately, like school and homework and reading and talking French and making cakes and hyperventilating and sleeping in fields and drinking and dancing and eating and going out and getting hypothermia and walking into things and other writing stuff.**

**But I've managed to update before Christmas! However I do have to apologise; this chapter will be full of mistakes. Lazy-arse over here couldn't be bothered reading over it properly or finding herself a beta. Hey, it's Chritmas! I'm allowed to be lazy!**

**_Disclaimer: Tis the season to be jolly, fra la la la la, la la la LA :D I don't own Harry Potter._**

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* * *

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I hate mornings. I hate mornings more than I hate sprouts, I hate mornings more than I hate pigeons and I hate mornings more - just as much as I hate butter. Nothing comes higher than butter in the 'Things Ginny Weasley Hates' list, except maybe Romilda Vane.

But anyway, I hate mornings. And I hated mornings even more when the door to our dormitory flung open, waking me from my most enjoyable dream (possibly involving a certain Boy-Who-Lived and a distinct lack of clothing) and I started and rolled, not for the first time, right off my bed. Even worse, the curtains were closed, so I ended up falling onto them and getting them all twisted around myself. I heard a familiar voice next to me and craned my head over the folds of heavy red material to see Hermione's anxious face peering at me.

"Are you alright?"

"Does it look like I'm alright?" I cried, but due to the twisting of bed hangings around my mouth, it came out as "Duhmf hookhimf umfafumfa?"

Hermione raised her eyebrows at me and I wiggled desperately, trying to loosen the curtains. She obviously got the message as she pulled out her wand hastily and muttered something. The curtains began to unwind themselves and I was free to wobble to my feet, massaging my head.

"Yes, Hermione?"

"I came up here to get you for breakfast; I thought you'd be awake!"

I peered at the clock in the corner, yelping when I saw that the hands were pointing to twenty to nine. "Shit! Lessons start in like twenty minutes!" I cried, using my ability to state the obvious to its fullest advantage.

Hermione didn't even bother scolding me for my language, she just said, "I know! So hurry up and get ready! I have to go meet Ron and Harry for breakfast."

She turned and scuttled back out of the door. I rechecked the time, yelped once more and flew into the bathroom door - literally, I'd forgotten to open it in my haste. Why the hell were the bathroom doors so bloody hard, anyway? Peeling myself off the wood, I flung it open and threw myself at the sink, whipping out my toothpaste and brushing my teeth like there was no tomorrow. When I was sufficiently showered and washed, in what must have been record time, I skidded back to the door to try and find a fresh pair of robes. There was movement on the bed next to me and Ruth rolled over, her hair mussed from sleeping. She opened her eyes groggily.

"Whussamatta?"

"Ruth, it's quarter to nine!"

And so, she yelped and mirrored what I'd been doing five minutes ago (without so much tripping and slipping).

Ten minutes later, we both skidded into the Great Hall, Ruth still doing her tie, and threw ourselves down onto the bench. I conveniently landed next to my boyfriend, the first person I wanted to see when I'd had a minute to drag a brush through my hair and it looked like I'd taken styling tips off Trelawney.

"Morning," Dean said, pecking me on the cheek. "Why are you so late?"

I grumbled something about broken alarm clocks and then began to shovel food into my mouth in a most lady-like manner, spraying everyone in a ten meter radius to me with porridge. Manners, they weren't really my strong point. Staring competitions however, they were a whole different story. Dumbledore's piercing gaze wouldn't stand a chance against my death-glare. Arnold poked out of my bag while I was busy attacking breakfast, clambered up my arm and began to waddle across the table, sniffing at the flecks of porridge I'd left on the wood.

"Who's this?" Dean asked, peering cautiously down at Arnold, who was emitting high trilling noises and hopping from side to side with a pleased look on his face.

"Oh, that's Arnold. My pygmy puff. My dancing pygmy puff."

"He's cute," Dean replied, poking a finger into Arnold's fur. Arnold stopped mid-crouch, turned around, dangerously slowly, and gave Dean what must have been one of the evilest looks I'd ever seen anyone make, purple fluff ball or not.

"Is something vibrating?" Ruth asked from opposite. I shook my head, startled.

"No, it's Arnold. He's growling."

"Growling? At who?"

I gestured my head towards Dean as Arnold took a deep breath and sprinted as fast as his podgy little legs would carry him (which wasn't very fast at all) in my boyfriend's direction, launching himself off the table with a high pitched "aweeeeee!"

"Shit!" I cursed, darting out my hand to catch him before he crashed into Dean's chest. I shoved the still squealing fluff ball into my bag, my cheeks flushing.

"I'm, uh, guessing he doesn't like me," Dean surmised in an uncertain voice. I tried to deny it, lying of course – fluff balls don't try to crush people to death out of love and affection - but McGonagall interrupted me.

"Your timetable, Ms. Weasley. And what is that awful squealing?"

I took it from her, scanning the first lessons while trying to stop Arnold from escaping out of my school bag. Damnit, History of Magic. Maybe Binns'd do some good for once and send my hyper-active purple fluff ball to sleep. Trust Fred and George to give me a pygmy puff that had some sort of vendetta against my boyfriend. Cursing my brothers to oblivion, I left the Great Hall and emerged in the Entrance Hall, waiting for Ruth to catch up.

"Why doesn't Arnie like Dean?"

"Because he's a psychopath," I replied to Ruth. "Arnold, not Dean. And don't call him Arnie, for Merlin's sake."

"It's a cute name," she protested, wiggling her fingers at my bag, where Arnold's eyes were visible peeking from beneath the flap, glaring in Dean's direction.

"It's not cute, it's horrible," I replied, pushing Arnold further into my bag; he already had one foot out and I wasn't about to let him loose on the unsuspecting public.

"Hey, look who it is," Ruth muttered to me as I straightened up. I followed her eyes and saw that she was looking at the entrance to the Great Hall, where steady streams of students were filing out. Hey, Demelza! I missed her last night; I wonder where she went- oh.

There, in plain sight, was Harry. Looking even more gorgeous in his black robes with his tousled hair and cute smile and perfectly podgy toes protected by his perfectly school-regulation shoes and -

"Are you going to go and talk to Harry or just stand there gawping at him?" Ruth quipped, leaning forward to put her hand under my chin and close my mouth for me.

"Why would I do that?"

She looked at me incredulously. "Have you forgotten the reason I slept in late today? The reason we were up all night last night? The reason you ran into a door this morning!" Bollocks, I didn't know she'd seen that. "The operation, fool!"

"But," I protested weakly as Harry got nearer, so close I could make out the thin, lightning bolt scar beneath his messy fringe and the green glint of his eyes. "I didn't think we were finished. We're not starting it today!"

"Of course we are! What are you waiting for? The Spanish Armada?" The Spanish what? "Go!"

She shoved me hard in the back and I stumbled forward, smacking right into the approaching Harry's chest. I rebounded off it, teetering dangerously on my heel before he grasped my upper arm and set me straight.

"Whoa there, Ginny. Are you alright?"

Oh bloody Merlin.

"Yeah, I'm fine - I mean, someone - I tripped," I stuttered, feeling my face flood with colour as I cursed Ruth to the fiery depths of Hell, to suffer with my brothers and that second year with the pointy trunk. Harry stared bemusedly back down at me, as if waiting for me to say something and, recalling what Luna had said to me last night, I burst out, "nice day for quidditch, isn't it?"

He raised his eyebrows at me before glancing out of the nearest window. Rain was lashing against the glass and a fierce wind was threatening to destroy the trees in the forest - I could distinctly see Hagrid being bowled across the pumpkin patch while Fang was blown right into the lake. I swore under my breath; of all the days, today had to be a day not to be suitable for quidditch playing. I really should've checked the weather before I spoke, or better yet, just not spoke at all.

"Um, sure," he said slowly, still staring out of the window. I took his short lapse in attention as an opportunity to turn and glare at Ruth, who waved obnoxiously back at me. "Oh, before I forget, quidditch tryouts are the Saturday after next. You're trying for the team, aren't you?"

"How did you know?"

"Um, you told me during the summer."

"Oh, right, I remember. Ha ha," I chuckled feebly, feeling stupid for thinking that Harry might've gone out of his way to find this piece of information out, like I had done for him. Did you know that Harry's favourite day of the week is Sunday? Or that he can't drink orange juice with pulp; it makes him queasy. Or that for the two years of his school life he couldn't get his 'b's and 'd's the right way around and - "I'll de - I mean, I'll _be_ there," I promised.

"Good. I have to go find Ron, but I'll see you the Saturday after next?"

"Yeah, sure," I replied, my heart twisting in an annoying way when he smiled at me and left. He had only smiled! People do it all the time and their smiles didn't throw my heart into a frenzy. I sighed a heavy sigh, knowing the operation had not gotten off to a good start, and then turned to make my way back to Ruth. She was smiling brightly at m, but I just gave her a murderous look - one typically shared between two girls when the aforementioned girl pushes the previous girl into said girl's crush -and walked right past her, in what I hoped was the direction of our next lesson. I had been at Hogwarts for five years, but the corridors still sometimes confused me. Was I going north, or west? Or south? Or quite possibly, east?

"Well done! A conversation with Harry!"

"Yeah, I can start conversations with Harry all by myself, thank you very much! I've been doing it all summer," I snapped back, though I knew this was a lie. I could start conversations with Harry, if they could be called conversations, but recently it took me an age to work up the courage and then I spent the rest of the time muttering and stuttering about gnomes and such anyway.

"Sorry, sheesh," she said, holding her hands up in front of her. "I just thought you might've needed a little shove to get you started."

"Not a literal shove! That sent me flying right into him!"

She laughed aloud. "You have to admit, that was kind of funny though." When I merely scowled, she looked forward and muttered, "or not."

I snapped, my attempt at angry silence failing. "No, it wasn't funny! I just made myself look like a total idiot!"

"No, you didn't."

"I did, Ruth, and you know it."

"No, I don't."

"Well it doesn't matter anyway, because I am no longer talking to you."

"You're not?"

"No."

"But you just spoke then."

"Shut up, Ruth."

"And you spoke to me again."

I gave her a flat look out of the corner of my eye, still charging ahead through the now nearly deserted corridor.

"Look, I'm sorry. I'm a little confused."

"Fine, then!" I stormed, stopping and whipping round to glare at her. "From now, I'm not talking to you."

I started walking again and I thought she was going to get the message and shut up, but then she said, "but you spoke to me after you said the word 'now.'"

I growled, and I could tell from her voice that she was enjoying this way more than any normal fifteen year old should. "Alright then, I refuse to talk to you from - now."

"Now?"

I glared at her once more, turning down the History of Magic corridor.

"At least I know where I stand," I heard her mutter as I opened the door.

"You're late, Ms. Weasley, Ms. Russell," wheezed Professor Binns from the front of the class. I was surprised he actually noticed we'd been absent, normally he didn't even notice when half the class just didn't turn up. Once or twice even he hadn't turned up. We'd spent the whole lesson throwing paper airplanes at each other in the most mature way we could muster. We both apologised and then rushed to an empty desk at the back of the classroom. Ruth sat herself beside me and for once, I wished she would go and sit somewhere else.

Binns began to drone something about goblins (why are all History of Magic lessons about goblins? Hasn't the Wizarding World got anything else worth forcing teenagers to learn about?) and I dragged my parchment and quill out of my bag, willing myself not to succumb to the drowsiness that was seeping through me. I hadn't been able to sleep much at all the night before; my head was so full of thoughts and Ruth snores like a chainsaw with a bad case of the flu. Times ten.

I felt a brush at my elbow, and looked down to see a piece of parchment tucked under it, and Ruth eyeing me inconspicuously. I pulled it closer to read the small print:

_Does not speaking to me include not writing to me?_

I sighed and pushed it away from me. I wasn't going to give in so easily, but Ruth was relentless. She scribbled something more and then slid it towards me once more.

_Oh, come on! Look, I'm sorry I shoved you. It wasn't the cleverest thing to do, and I'll wait for your permission next time before I push you into people's chests._

_Damn right you wil_l I thought inwardly, but outwardly I sniffed, still not looking at her. She wrote another message.

_You're going to have to forgive me sometime._

I frowned and gave up, picking up my quill and scrawling under her message,

_Why?_

_B__ecause you're Ginny. You're not a very unforgiving person_.

I frowned again. What was she talking about? I held grudges against people all the time! Once, I didn't speak to Charlie for three weeks because he stole my last chip. It was a special chip that I'd been saving throughout the whole meal because it looked especially crispy, and it was the longest chip I'd ever seen. I could've made it into a world record and then became famous, but no - Charlie had to wreck my dreams of holding the title for 'World's Largest Chip Finder.'

And I still wasn't talking to Ron properly for standing on my toe the other day; it bloody hurt.

_I am too!_

_Well, not to me you're not. Whenever we get into a fight, you always end up forgiving me first. You can't resist my charm._

I growled underneath my breath, carving the words 'watch me' into the parchment with unnecessary force. Then I pushed it away from me, crossing my arms across my chest, letting out an indignant "humph!" just for effect.

The next ten minutes of the lesson passed in excruciating slowness. Ruth was humming 1980's love songs under her breath (what was a total eclipse of the heart, anyway?) and drumming her fingers on the desk in an infuriating manner. I glared out of the window at a leaf that was stuck to the glass on the other side. Stupid leaf, getting itself stuck. And just look at it, flapping around out there and attracting attention to itself, the drama queen. I bet that leaf did it on purpose, went around flapping in inconvenient places. I bet it was the reason for the lack of sugar sticks in Honeydukes too, and for my robes being a half inch too short and for chocolate being too fatty and winter too cold and my cheeks too freckled and the door to the bathroom too hard –

"Ms. Weasley?" a voice droned from the front of the classroom. My head snapped up. "The answer, if you will?"

Oh shit, what had he been talking about? Goblins or something? I glanced around desperately, catching sight of Ruth's notes. Her writing was small and elegant, and extremely difficult to decipher from upside down (she tilted her page to the left when she wrote), but I tried my best.

"Um… wigs and lizards doing the ice-skating revolution, sir." I knew I'd got it wrong when the whole class began to snigger, Professor Binns' eyebrows shot up and Ruth facepalmed rather violently.

"Yes, Ms Weasley, many magical people benefited from wigs and lizards doing the ice-skating revolution," he said sarcastically and my cheeks blushed a deep red. While someone went on to correctly answer the question, Ruth rotated her page and pushed it closer to me so I could read the title.

_Wizard Travel during the Industrial Revolution_

I swore under my breath and began to bang my head against the table. I still blamed that stupid, over-dramatic leaf.

* * *

"Actually, lizards do make quite good ice skaters," Luna objected after Ruth had finished retelling my mishap in History of Magic. I vaguely wondered how Luna would know this – how did they even find boots small enough? And those stubby little feet couldn't give too much leverage on the ice, how would they stay standing? – but I kept my curiosity to myself. Curiosity killed the cat after all, even though I never understood that saying. Perhaps Curiosity was the name of a particularly evil dog?

"What did Binns do?" Dean asked, the smile that had been growing on his face during the story breaking into a grin. We were sitting in the Great Hall having lunch. I'd spent the rest of the morning's lessons in ashamed silence while Ruth snickered at me every so often. She was right in the end; I'd forgiven her after History of Magic. Whether it was her charm or her ability to cheer me up with her Ogre impressions, I just couldn't stay mad at her. It was actually quite annoying.

"I think sending me to straight to Mungo's may have crossed his mind, but he just went on with the lesson. He already knows I'm crazy."

"He does. Remember that time you fell asleep in third year and when he finally wheezed loud enough to wake you up you started yelling about sun dried tomatoes, itchy-feet and Filch?"

By god I remembered – one of the worst dreams of my life. I've never been able to look a tomato in the eye since, metaphorically of course. Because tomatoes don't have eyes, except for that time back in fourth year in Transfiguration. We'd been turning plum puddings into apples – how Ruth ended up with a living, blinking tomato I don't know.

"Itchy-feet?" Dean questioned.

"Don't ask."

A single, deep chime sounded from somewhere above and Ruth sighed and pushed herself away from the table.

"Come on Ginny, Luna. We've got potions."

"Oh, we get to meet the new professor," Luna announced as we bid the others goodbye and made our way into the mildly busy Entrance Hall. We were halfway across it when for no reason whatsoever, my feet tangled themselves up with each other and I toppled right over, collapsing on my side against the cool, stone floor.

Ruth burst into giggles, trying, and failing, to stifle them with her hand as she spluttered "are you alright?"

What the hell? I stared down at my feet with accusing eyes. Trust whoever it was that gave me my feet to give me the ones that didn't work right. Could feet rebel against their owners? Maybe that was what mine were doing, in which case, I demanded a refund! Or a refeet!

"Gosh, Ginny!" Luna gasped, her hands at her mouth and her glassy orbs wide. "You've got it!"

Got what? Dangerously rebellious feet?

"Got what?" Ruth asked, her eyes still a little red from laughing.

"Jingouitis!" she cried, her face so tragic you would've thought someone had died. Unfortunately, only my dignity had.

"Jing-wee-what?" I echoed while Luna flapped about and muttered hysterically, trying to remember where I'd heard that. I don't think it was a dream...

"Is that that stupid disease you were going on about?" Ruth sighed, and the light bulb in my head flashed on.

"It's not stupid! Oh, Ginny, we need to get you to a healer! Or better yet, we need to get you to daddy. He'll be able to take a sample from your foot and create a cure for everyone!"

"Luna, I tripped over. I haven't got jingy-itis!" I said, struggling to hoist myself off the floor, on which I'd been lying for at least two minutes. I was starting to draw attention to myself - well, more attention than usual. The 'one with lots of brothers and insanely red hair' was bound to attract some attention on a regular basis.

"No, Ginny! Don't get up!" Luna's forceful hand on my forehead made my elbows buckle and sent me crashing back to the floor again, sending my bag skidding across the hall.

"Ow," I complained, rubbing my arse. That was going to leave a bruise. Ruth laughed louder, but Luna looked wild.

"You'll only make it worse! Oh, snarglejump, we may be too late! It may be worse than I thought, the toes may have disappeared! I need to see how bad the damage is myself."

With that, she lunged for my feet, fingers grasping to pull off my shoes.

"Luna!" I cried, kicking my feet away. I didn't need the whole of the school seeing my toes! I hadn't painted my toenails!

Since when did I become so shallow?

"Luna, I think I would know if my toes had fallen off!"

"You may not have noticed!"

She had a point. This morning I'd been too rushed to check that my toes were still there when I'd gotten dressed, and since when does one pay that much attention to toes anyway? Well, to their own toes. It was plain by now that I had an unhealthy obsession with Harry's.

I shook my head, squeezing my eyes shut. You know you're going crazy when you're actually considering Luna's theories.

Luna's hand was tight around my ankle, thwarting me in my effort to pull my foot away. Her other hand was trying to steady my foot, and both of us were too absorbed in our fight to notice a second year whizzing down the marble stairs until he'd ran right into my leg and landed sprawled in a heap on the other side. This provoked even more laughter, and as I turned to say sorry, I caught sight of his face. Hey! It was the git with the sharp trunk and the big mouth! Well, serves him right. Though, I wasn't able to mock him, seeing as I was in pretty much the same situation, if not worse. Luna yanked my foot particularly hard, and I felt my hands go from where they were attempting to steady me, and heard the painful thud of my head hitting the floor. No, my situation was definitely worse.

"Ruth!" I cried as Luna flung one of my shoes to the corner of the Entrance Hall, sending a group of first-years running and screaming in the opposite direction. "Help me!"

But she was on the floor too, sitting on her feet with tears rolling down her face, pearls of laughter shaking her whole body. What a fat lot of help she was! She was going to remember this the next time she was being attacked by a crazed blonde and I just laughed!

It was only then that I noticed quite a crowd gathering to watch the spectacle, all laughing in much the same manner, using statues and fellow classmates to hold themselves up. Luna was causing such a scene, trying to hold me down while I struggled to get up and claw my socks off at the same time. My eyes picked out a person coming towards us, and my head was so full of swear words and curses (that I fear may now be illegal to repeat) that I barely even registered Luna screaming, "Stand back! It's contagious! SHEILD YOUR TOES!"

"Ginny?" Harry said when he'd gotten close enough, surveying the scene with incredulous eyes. Me sprawled on the floor, possessions flung everywhere, Luna pulling manically at my socks and screaming about unfair toe treatment and Ruth banging her fists on the floor, her face growing purple from the excess of laughter. "Are you okay?"

Luna was momentarily distracted by the sound of Harry's voice and as she looked up to warn him her grasp loosened enough for me to yank my foot away and push myself to my feet, my face flooding with colour. I noticed that many of the crowd were now trickling away, still chortling and muttering about 'regular old Loony Lovegood.'

Had the girl in question not just humiliated me to death, those people would've received some serious hexing for calling my best friend 'loony', even though a part of me couldn't help but agree with them. She thought I'd lost my toes, for goodness sake.

Luna looked up at me, a crease appearing between her eyebrows. Ruth's weak chuckles turned into hiccups and Luna turned to where she was still bent over on the ground. She gasped, much in the same fashion as she had done before.

"Ruth! Not you, too!"

I watched Luna fling herself at Ruth's unsuspecting toes for a bit, only remembering Harry's presence when he coughed.

"Are you okay?"

I blushed deeply again, looking at the floor. I'd just been attacked by a crazed Ravenclaw trying to take samples of my apparently non-existent toes; he should know the answer to that one.

"I'm fine, well – my bum hurts, but – um, you didn't need to know that, obviously." He raised his eyebrows at my incoherent muttering. "Luna thought my feet were diseased."

This explained everything, and he nodded understandingly.

"They're not, by the way. Diseased, that is. My feet are fine. And healthy." I couldn't have Harry refusing to go out with me because he thought my feet were mutated or something.

"So," he said, rocking back and forth on his heels.

"So," I echoed. This was awkward, and not the nice, cute kind either. It was the 'you've just seen me fall on my arse in public so I'm going to go and die in a hole now' kind of awkward.

"Quidditch tryouts on Saturday?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I'll see you there. I have to get to potions though, otherwise I'll be late, or later, I suppose. Because I'm already five minutes late, but that's not a problem for you because you have a free period now. Not that I would know or anything, it's not like I stalk you, I – uh, I mean – I don't stalk you, promise. I don't. It's just that Dean has a free period now, and you have all of the same lessons. Well, not all of the same lessons; he doesn't do potions and you do. But again, not like I'm stalking you! Ron told me. Well – Hermione told me actually. But still, he does Astronomy instead... don't know why, he doesn't really like stars, I don't think. I've never asked him..."

I had been steadily walking backwards while saying this - I was nearly at the entrance to the dungeons, with Harry still staring at me from his stationary position in the middle of the hall and Ruth and Luna still wrestling for Ruth's toes beside him.

"Bye, Harry!" I yelled over my shoulder, making a beeline for the safety of the dungeons. I heard Ruth's cry from behind me.

"Ginny! Help me!"

I cackled an evil laugh that of course I hadn't practiced every day for almost a month in front of a mirror to get it perfect, how sad do you think I am? and yelled back in the direction of Ruth's fading screams,

"I told you you'd regret not helping me before!"

And as I skidded to a halt beside the door to the potions room, I thought I heard a faint echo of,

"What? NO YOU DIDN'T!"

* * *

"Bloody extra potions homework," I heard Ruth mumble as we ascended the stairs to the fifth-years dormitory, having spent the last hour slumped on the couches in the common room attempting to make my writing big enough to fill thirteen inches of parchment on Goblin Rebellions. I'd had to stop increasing the size though when my writing grew larger than my little finger.

"It was your fault for being late," I chided in such a Hermione-ish manner that my hand flew to my hair just to check. Ruth spluttered in outrage as I flung open the dormitory door to reveal an empty room. Ellie and Rosie hadn't been downstairs either. _Where did they go?_

"You mean it was _your fault_ for not saving me from Luna!"

"You never saved me from Luna! You just sat there. And laughed! I thought you should get a taste of your own medimim."

"Medicine, Ginny. And I couldn't help you up, I – I had jingy-itis, remember!"

I turned round to give her a flat look. "Ruth, you do not have jingy-itis."

"And neither do I have a perfect attendance for Potions now! There's a great fat 'L' by my name because I was late!"

We both deposited our bags onto our respective beds. I sat on the floor, propping my back up against mine.

"Ruth," I sighed. "You were never going to manage arriving on time to every lesson, anyway. You're not a very punctual person."

"I am too!" she gasped, seeming surprisingly offended. I settled further down against the bed, frowning as my bum began to ache from the amount of hard surfaces it had painfully connected with that day. I scrambled around above me for a pillow, placing it on the floor against my bed and settling myself on the fluffy pillow instead. Ah, heaven for your buttocks.

"How many times were you actually on time to Charms last year?" I questioned, turning round to give her my best interrogative glare. She'd have no choice but to crack under my unfaltering squint-eyes. Yes, crack my little pretty, crack!

"Um, twice," she mumbled almost inaudibly. I gave a triumphant grin, involving many teeth and dimples, and turned back around again. "But that was Charms! We're talking about Potions."

"And how many time's were you on time for Potions?"

She couldn't answer that, so merely huffed and stalked over to the window, making a big show of turning her back to me and then retorting in high, sing song voice, "Well, in twenty years when I'm at that oh-so-important job interview to become Minister Of Magic and to change the Wizarding world for better, you know what they'll say to me? 'How come you were late to your first Potions lesson of fifth year? That's not acceptable! Get out!' And then they'll refuse me the job just because you wouldn't help me out when my toes, and future, were in jeopardy." And it didn't stop there. "And then, I'll become a tramp on the streets, begging for a knut wherever I can, and when I die from starvation and lack of purple nail varnish, which we all know I can't live without, you know what I'll do? I'll come back to haunt you. Wherever you go, I'll be there. When you're at the supermarket, I'll be there. When you're playing poker with your work friends, I'll be there. Even when you're in the shower, I'll be there. On the other side of the curtain, of course, being a ghost doesn't make me a pervert. But still, I'll be there. You just wait."

During that oh-so-threatening speech she had moved so she was leaning over me, her face menacing and her voice a deathly quiet. I laughed.

"Ooh – scary."

She huffed at me again, throwing herself onto the floor next to me. She winced when her bum connected with the painfully hard floorboards so I summoned her pillow from her bed and handed it to her. "Buttock heaven, my friend." She looked at me like I'd grown two heads (again, I had to shoot my hand to my neck to check there wasn't an extra one sprouting out), and then huffed again.

"You never take me seriously."

"It's hard to when you're waffling on about haunting me in the shower. Which is pretty sick, by the way."

"I'm not going to be in the shower with you, Ginny! Ew! I'll be on the other side of the curtain. But still haunting you."

There were a series of complicated knocks on the door, halting my reply.

"Come in," we both replied in unison. Since when did anybody knock? Since when did anybody who would feel the need to knock visit our dormitory? Nothing in here but socks and hair clips. Lots and lots of hairclips. The knocks went again, the same sequence, and I frowned at Ruth. Were they going to make me get up and answer? We'd said come in! Couldn't a girl be lazy around here when she wanted to be?

I raised myself to my feet with some difficulty, swearing I heard my butt moan at the separation from its heaven and it. When the knocks sounded once more, I opened the door with a bit more aggression that was needed, revealing a wide-eyed Luna.

"Luna!" I said, my frown disappearing. "What was with all of the knocking?"

"It was our secret Operation: SQUIB knock," she whispered, peering round exaggeratedly as if looking for spies. I peered around sub-consciously also, before realising what I was doing. It was official; I spent way too much time around Luna. And Ruth. I needed new friends.

"We don't have a secret Operation: SQUIB knock. And what's with all the whispering?" I moved back to let her pass, and she tip toed in, checking behind the occasional curtain or bedside table on her way to buttock heaven.

"I sent the Bringles to tell you this morning." Well, that explains why we hadn't got the message. Ruth had a strict anti-Bringle, anti-Nargle, anti-anything-else-Luna-makes-up policy. "And I'm whispering so no one else hears me."

"I don't think you have to worry about that, Luna," Ruth called from her seated position, which I returned to soon after. Ah, there's no heaven like Buttock-Heaven (now with capital letters – it's become a worldwide phenomenon!) "Pull up a pillow."

She sat down next to us, after checking underneath the pillow and inside the cover first. When we were all suitably seated, Luna turned to Ruth.

"Have you checked your toes like I told you to?"

"Luna! I do not have jingy-itis!" she growled in retort, tucking her feet underneath her; Luna had been eyeing them hungrily.

"I thought you said you did before," I interjected annoyingly, grinning at Ruth when she turned to scowl at me. Oh yes, I was getting my payback.

"Denial doesn't help anything, Ruth," Luna advised in a sombre tone.

"I'm not in denial! I don't have jingy-itis and I don't need my toes chopped off and sent to your father to be experimented on, thank you very much."

"Oh, you wouldn't be without toes, Ruth!" Luna cried, as if Ruth was the one being ridiculous. "They can be easily replaced. Daddy knows an ogre who owes him a favour, and would be more than happy to help you out."

While I snorted with laughter, Ruth cried, "I'm not having some smelly ogre's feet where mine used to be! I like my feet, Luna, and you're not having them! Find your own diseased feet to experiment on, because you're not having mine. End of."

"But the jingouitis!"

"Jing-wee-what?" Hermione's confused voice came from the doorway. I waved a greeting, sniggering too much to talk.

"Jingouitis," Luna said immediately.

"It's a disease that Luna's made up and she thinks I have," Ruth sighed.

"Should've known," Hermione said under her breath, while Luna cried simultaneously "it's not made up! It's fatal, I swear!"

"Fatal my left buttock," I heard Ruth mutter darkly, and I snorted again. Ruth and Luna were best friends, but they just didn't see eye-to-eye when it came to Luna's, um, inventions. I doubt anyone saw eye-to-eye with Luna, apart from her reflection.

Hermione took a seat on the new pillow next to me after I had made a show of patting it invitingly and then whipped out a scroll of parchment from her pocket.

"Right, down to business," she said briskly, ignoring my groan. Wasn't romance meant to be a slow-motion run through a field full of flowers while wearing a floating white gown? And talking rabbits? Not sleepless nights and hard work and falling over. "I think we should set up a sort of guideline framework for the Operation."

"What about being spontaneous and all that? Isn't that how it's meant to happen?"

"If you're in a trashy muggle novel, then sure. And anyway, this framework is going to flexible. First, we need to know what's happening, and then you can go off and do your spur-of-the-moment faff."

"I just think you like making plans too much," I muttered. She looked slightly hurt, and then said in a dignified voice,

"You like to play quidditch, I like to plan. There's nothing wrong with that."

"I like to fish for fresh-water Plimpies."

"And I like to sleep, so can we not spend so much time on Operation Squib tonight?"

"I second that request," I replied to Ruth's point.

"Fine," said Hermione, and then she proceeded to read out what was already written on the parchment.

Forty-five minutes, seven arguments and three pillow fights later, the list had grown even longer and the parchment was covered in each of our scribbles and doodles (the most elaborate one, courtesy of Ruth, depicted Snape barn dancing with a drunken Filch). Hermione finished writing the last point, jabbing the full stop with triumph, creating a little splatter of ink. She hurried to vanish it with her wand.

"Is this it? Can we stop writing things down now?" I asked desperately. Hermione nodded, and I heard Luna sigh "thank Merlin" from her slumped position at the head of the bed. Only Hermione, still sitting upright with her legs tucked under her, seemed to have any energy left. Luna was sagging against the headboard, I was sprawled over the mattress and Ruth was... Ruth was...

"Where's Ruth?" I asked, after a quick scan of the surrounding area.

"On the floor somewhere," Hermione answered vaguely, still editing the parchment.

"She ran out of energy about half an hour ago," Luna chipped in helpfully.

"Uh, Ruth?" I questioned aloud, moving to peer around the other side of the bed when a muffled "mmph" sounded. I laughed when I saw Ruth lying face down on the wooden floor. "You okay there?"

"Nmph."

"Okay, let's read this one more time," Hermione suggested.

Ruth heaved herself up so her face was visible over the bed, her expression tragic. "No, please! Not more planning, please!"

"Come on, Ruth," Luna said in a grave voice, patting Ruth on the shoulder. "Be strong, soldier."

"It's a hard life, it is, but someone's got to do it. Someone has to be the victim of the Great Granger's hardcore planning, Take one for the team," I added bracingly. Hermione gave us all a sarcastic look, accompanied by a "very funny", and then began to recite. Ruth groaned, covered her ears and rolled underneath the bed.

_OPERATION: SQUIB_

_Operation Squib: to get Harry Potter and Ginny Weasley together._

_How to do:_

_1) Get Harry to notice you more by being conscious of your appearance._

_2) Strike up a conversation with him about a topic he's interested in, so he sees that you're not the shy little girl you used to be, but a confident young woman._

_3) Subtly flirt with him in the following ways:_

_- Asking questions about him._

_- Playing with your hair._

_- Smile and laugh._

_- Gentle touches on his arm, for example._

_- 'The Look.'_

_Stages of Attack (in no particular order):_

_Have a meal with Harry (no spaghetti, spinach or Yorkshire pudding pie)._

_Have him stop in the middle of a conversation to look at you._

_Have him comment on a piece of your clothing (NB: Buy some new clothing)._

_Have a private quidditch match with him._

_Have him walk you to a lesson alone (and hold your books!)_

_Have him comfort you when you're upset (faking is acceptable)._

_Have him start a conversation off with you._

_Have him buy you something._

_Have him stick up for you._

_Things that need to be achieved before going out with Harry:_

_Breaking up with Dean._

_Gaining a sense of balance._

_Getting to know the real Harry (no matter how cheesy that sounds)._

_Harry's Main Weaknesses (to be used to the fullest advantage)_

_Treacle tart._

_His Dobby socks._

_Quidditch._

_Bravery._

_His disability to enunciate around girls (eg. Wangoballwime)._

_Treacle tart._

Hermione paused when the door was opened and Ellie and Rose walked in, laughing. With a sneaky gesture, Hermione managed to slide the parchment underneath my pillow, hiding it from view.

"Is it over?" Ruth's bleary voice came from where she'd popped up again.

"Is what over?" Rose questioned and Ruth's eyes grew wide.

"The rain," she lied quickly. Rose and Ellie seemed to accept this, for they shrugged and went about their business. How come when I wanted sun, I got rain, and when Ruth wanted rain, she got what she asked for? Someone up there hated me, I was sure of it.

"Was it even raining?" Ellie questioned after a second, and I grinned smugly at Ruth. Ha, not so smooth now, are we?

"Yeah," she replied without missing a beat, inspecting her fingernails.

"Oh, okay."

Damn it! How could Emily be so gullible? And Ruth so cool? Where had I been when they'd handed out the cool genes? Probably falling over or eating or blushing or sticking my elbows in butter. No wonder Harry liked girls like Cho; Cho probably didn't stick her elbows in butter. Cho probably whipped the butter into a treacle tart or something while Harry declared his undying love for her. And then they'd skip (or as close to skipping as Harry could probably get) away into the sunset holding hands and they'd live happily ever after and have little Harry juniors and Cho juniors and their home would smell of baking and have blue birds hanging coats on pegs and squirrels sweeping fireplaces and correctly paired socks and smell of freesia or roses or whatever fairytale homes smelt of these days.

And I'd still be stood there with a buttery elbow.

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**A/N****: Go on, REVIEWWWWW. You know you want to. :D**


	10. Chapter 10: Poodle Shaped Bruises

**A/N: I would have liked some more time on this, but to be honest, I just got so sick of this chapter. Plus, I really have to revise for my maths exam tomorrow, and if I don't post it now I'll just keep staring at it all night.**

**Disclaimer: You really should be getting the idea now, but I'll tell you again, just for kicks: Harry Potter? Yeah - not mine!**

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Chapter Ten - Poodle-Shaped Bruises

Ah. The feel of the crisp, morning air cutting at my exposed cheeks, the bright sun dancing off the lake and the smell of quidditch wafting in the breeze were the only things worthy of dragging myself out of bed at such an ungodly hour for. Okay, so it was half-past ten, and I could've done without my hair being whipped into my mouth, the constant slipping and sliding on the wet grass and the glare of the sun in my eyes. But none of that mattered as I grew nearer to the quidditch pitch, the anticipation in my belly increasing as the sugar depraved butterflies were let loose once more.

"So, you think you'll make it?" my partner-in-crime asked, striding along beside me, her speech muffled from the scarf wound around her face. The scarf wasn't to protect her from the cold; Ruth the Remarkably Radical Rebel (she came up with the nickname, not me) didn't get chilly! How dare you even think it! Luna had been creeping around this morning with a vial full of bubbling, snot-green, what-the-hell-they-look-like-toenails liquid, labelled 'Jingouitis antidote'. I'd be worried, too.

"I hope so," I replied, glimpsing the flags marking the tops of the stands and quickening my pace.

"What if you don't make it?"

"Well, I'll probably be upset."

"Will you cry if you don't?"

"No. I'm not really a crier," I said impatiently. What was with the twenty questions?

"I bet I could make you cry," she announced, getting that look in her eye that she gets when she spots a challenge. A look to be avoided at all costs; I remember the last time she got that look in her eye - I ended up with purple hair for nearly a week. Wanting to get away from the possibly catastrophic subject, and protect my hair, I blurted out hastily,

"Have you done your Potions yet?"

"Yeah," she said offhandedly, the look still prominent on her face, "I did it yesterday with you. You've finished it too, idiot."

Damn my lack of good conversation topics. Scraping at the bottom of the bucket labelled 'Socially acceptable things for Ginny to talk about when all other conversation topics are lost'; I then came out with, "I have a bruise shaped like a poodle on the back of my thigh."

I succeeded in getting Ruth's attention, but probably fell right off Ruth's respect ladder, though I probably wasn't too high in the first place. I must've got mixed up with the buckets and picked out of the 'Things Ginny should never, EVER speak about in public' bucket. I needed to sort and organise my buckets properly to avoid situations like this.

"Right," she replied, drawing out the word. Well, at least her attention was diverted away from forcing tears out of my eyes, even if she had to make them herself.

We reached the pitch, which was practically buzzing with what looked like the whole of the Gryffindor house and more, most dressed in sporting gear. I fingered my tatty pair of muggle tracksuit pants, noticing that my palms had begun to feel disgustingly sweaty. My head spun, and not from the state of my hands.

"Crap, Ruth! There are loads of people here; I'm never going to get in!" I cried, clutching the handle of Charlie's old broomstick to my chest like it was all that was tying my down to Earth. Deep breaths, Ginny. In and out, in and out. Go to your happy place...

"You'll be fine, Ginny. I've seen you fly; you're really good. You'll be heaps better than any of the people here," Ruth reassured me in a soothing voice, brushing my hair away from my face in a motherly gesture, but I was in my happy place: there were blue chairs and purple pygmy puffs and all the toffee ice cream you could eat...

I heard a whistle blow, and my head jerked towards the sound. Harry was hovering above the pitch, the little silver instrument in his hand and a piece of parchment clipped onto a board in the other. No doubt Hermione had supplied the clipboard. He began to explain the day's procedures, but my ears had stopped working. Patting them apprehensively to make sure they were still there, and I hadn't left them on my pillow, I turned to Ruth.

"Ruth! W-What if I fall off my broom?" I demanded tragically.

"You won't hurt yourself, Ginny. And even if you do, Madam Pomfrey –"

"I'm not worrying about that! What if I fall in front of Harry? I'll make a total fool out of myself - I'll never be able to look at him again! I'll have to avoid him forever, which will be really hard because he's around at ours practically every summer. What will I do? I'll – I'll have to leave home! Go and live on the streets. Or worse! Go and live with Auntie Muriel –"

A sting on the side of my face made me stop abruptly, and as I raised my hand to my burning cheek I could vaguely distinguish Ruth's voice yelling, "Get a hold of yourself, woman! You're hyperventilating!"

"Did you just slap me?" I asked dazedly, my hand still at my cheek. I wasn't mad, Merlin knows I probably needed a good slap, I was just shocked. Who knew Ruth had that good of a swing? Well, I knew she had a good swing, I saw her take out Zacharias Smith back in third year, but I didn't think it was that good. She'd make a good beater; maybe she should be the one trying out...

"I had to!" she defended, her cheeks flushing. "You wouldn't calm down; I didn't know what else to do!"

"Oh, I know, it's fine. It's just – well, nice slap."

"Why, thank you," she beamed, all ashamedness gone. "Now quick, get over there, Harry called for everyone a minute ago, you'd better hurry. I'll be in the stands." She gave me a quick, strangling hug and then rushed over to the nearest set of windy, wooden stairs.

Massaging my neck, I stumbled and slid over to the group of people surrounding the floating Harry. I looked up at him as I approached, squinting my eyes against the glaring sun behind him. Huh, he looked kind of like God. A glorious, gorgeous God sent from the heavens to hover above me permanently, just out of my reach, to torture me forever. Unless of course I made the quidditch team, then I could just fly up and jump on him and he would be mine for eternity. Because you weren't allowed to fly up to Glorious, Gorgeous God Harry unless you were in the quidditch team. It was in the 'Rules Ginny Weasley Makes Up When She's Feeling Delirious Through Either Stress, Excitement or Too Much Food' book. I checked.

I jerked to a halt (I did NOT fall over my own feet) next to a big, beefy boy who I think was in the year above me. He had sandy hair and biceps the size of my head. He turned to look down at me when I stopped. Wait, he turned to leer at me when I stopped. His eyes bulged and his teeth grinned and I swear I saw a tongue loll there. Yes, ladies and gentlemen – a tongue loll.

I took three paces to my left, away from Big Beefy Creep, and tried to focus my attention on Glorious, Gorgeous God Harry. Must make quidditch team, must make quidditch team, must make quidditch team...

"Right, well. I think first of all I ought to check how well you all fly. So, I want you to sort yourselves into groups of ten and then make a circuit around the quidditch pitch one group at a time. So, er – off you go."

"Ginny!"

I wheeled round and saw Demelza coming towards me, with Katie Bell not far behind.

"Come in a group with us," Demelza suggested, smiling brightly.

"Yeah, sure," I agreed, scanning the crowd for anyone else I knew, which was pretty pointless, really. Ruth was in the stands and Luna was off doing things only Luna could get away with doing. "Who else should we go with?"

"Uh, isn't that Dean over there? How about we go with him and his friends?"

WHAT? Dean didn't tell me he was trying out! Dean couldn't try out! Dean wasn't allowed to try out! If we both made the team, I didn't want Dean flapping around me every single practice, making it completely impossible for me to carry out the 'oh, sorry Harry, I seem to have accidentally fallen off my broomstick and landed in your lap' move, or the 'I swear, Harry, the snitch was definitely hiding in your long, luscious hair before and I just had to run my fingers through it to get it out'. I know he's my muffin-cake and my love-pie, or whatever other food-related, vomit worthy names people make up for boyfriends, but I didn't want him around when I was trying to flirt with Harry! Gah, I was pissed.

"Dean's here?" I said through gritted teeth, practically having to hold my mouth up in a smile.

"Yeah, just over there. Hey, Ginny, are you alright? Your eye's twitching..."

"Dean!" I yelled, making my way over to him. "What're you doing here?"

"Oh, hey Ginny." _Don't you kiss me on the cheek - I know what you're up to! You may be on to me, snookie-puss, but sure as Merlin I'm on to you too!_ "Same reason everyone else is here: I'm trying out for the quidditch team."

"But you like toeball."

"I like football, Ginny. And that doesn't mean I can't try other sports."

"But," I said, desperately grasping at straws, "can you even play quidditch?"

"I'm not bad," he said, and then he grinned at me. "If you're worried I'll steal your chance, then I won't. I'm sure you'll be better than me."

I wasn't worrying about that! I have no doubt that I'll be better than you, Sherlock, I just don't want you messing up my chances of getting Harry as a boyfriend!

"Well, good luck," I simpered with the same sweetness I normally save for Vane while my eyes darted around the crowd surrounding us. Would anyone notice if I hexed him? I doubt they'd care. I'd make it look innocent, even throw in a sob or a sniffle if I really had to...

"Yeah, you too babe."

"Okay!" Harry's loud voice interrupted my exclamation over the word 'babe'. I wasn't a pig! "Can I please have group one?" A bunch of nervous looking first years scuttled towards Harry. "Now, I just want you to take off, fly once around the pitch and then land, okay?"

Group one didn't even get that far. Only one guy rose about two meters in the air and then, through shock of actually getting off the ground or a serious case of broom-wedgie, he fell off. The remaining groups up until ours, the last one, consisted of:

Romilda Vane and her Vanebots, who had about as much quidditch talent as my little finger; a ten-man pile up half way around the pitch; a load of hufflepuffs; a broken arm; Professor Trelawney; a big puff of purple smoke and three remaining teeth; a broomstick fashioned from rolled up parchment; a collapsed stand; a letter from the ministry permanently banning a first year from being within fifty metres of either a broomstick or a jar of pickles; a canary cream; a couple of people who weren't half bad; a couple of people who weren't half good; Crookshanks; and -

"Ginny, Ginny!" Demelza yelled at me, waving her hands around like a windmill, whacking Seamus in the mouth. "It's our turn now!"

I skidded over, stopping just next to Demelza, ignoring Seamus's loud screams of agony. Harry, who was hovering once more, lifted the whistle to his mouth and said slowly, "mount your brooms."

My attempt to swing my leg over the piece of wood failed, owing to the fact that there was nothing there. "Shit, wait!" I swore. Harry frowned at me, so I explained, rather ashamedly, "I left my broom over there, sorry, I'll just be a second -" I was already running by that point, sliding over to where my broom was lying on the floor. "Oh, don't you give me the innocent eyes; I know what you're up to!" I told it, to the general discomfort of all the first-years watching me, and then I slid back over to the start line, swung my leg over my thoroughly told-off broom, and turned to Harry, smiling.

"Ready."

"Right... well. Three, two, one – Go!"

I kicked off hard, mentally promising to apologise to the poor quidditch pitch later, and soared into the air. Realising that I could see no one out of the corners of my eyes I turned my head to check that I wasn't flying in the wrong direction – now that would be embarrassing - but everyone was behind me. Wait – I was in the lead? I was winning? As in – not loosing? I gave a shocked, manic laugh, confirming everyone's suspicions that yes, I was mental, and pushed the broom even further, urging it to go faster, relishing the way my hair whipped from my face and my robes streamed behind me.

Too soon, much too soon, I had reached the finish line. I dived to the grass, jerking my broom to a halt and hopping off in a way that I hoped looked professional, but probably didn't.

"Great work, Ginny!" I nearly died as those three words left Harry's mouth. My heart seemed to want to tango all over my chest, pulling veins and arteries with it, and I felt too mean to tell it to stop, because Harry had complimented me! Harry! Complimenting me!

"Uh, thanks," I managed to garble out, my cheeks burning and my head spinning. "Thanks."

I felt the others touch down next to me, and Demelza say, "hey, Ginny, you've been practising!"

"Well, you know," I smiled, feeling my head swell to immeasurable amounts. I raised my hand subtly to my head ensure it wasn't too noticeable. It wouldn't be too cool walking round with a head the size of Hagrid's.

"Well, you guys just stay here for a second," Harry said to us all, his brow furrowed in a way that tugged at my tangoing heart, scribbling something onto the clipboard. "And I'll go sort through the others."

"Wow, Ginny," Dean said, coming up next to me and slipping his hand through mine. My tangoing heart stopped, glared and dragged itself back into place, muttering loudly about party-poopers and kill-joys. "You can fly!"

"Yeah, well, I've been practising over summer," I said in explanation, catching sight of a pair of arms, unsurprisingly attached to Ruth, flailing in my direction. I raised a hand, the one holding my broomstick since Dean was still grasping my other, and waved tentatively back.

"Right -" My heart raised its chubby little head at the sound of his voice. "We're going to try the chasers now, so could all chasers please come forward."

After several firm words with my strangely unresponsive feet I managed to stumble forward to stand with a group of about thirteen people. I scanned their faces quickly, knowing that of us fifteen, only three would make it onto the team. Only three would have the honour of flying beside Harry Potter for the next year. Only three would have an excuse to start a conversation with Harry in the middle of the hall to enquire about the next practice, even though there was a timetable up on the notice board. Only three would be able to 'accidentally' stumble upon a scarcely clothed Harry when he'd just left the showers. And for all the chocolate frogs in the world I hoped to Merlin that one of those three people was a vertically challenged red-head with two left feet and her elbow covered in butter.

"Could Katie Bell, Demelza Robins and erm... Ginny Weasley please come over here to start us off."

Oh god oh god oh god oh god oh god oh god oh god oh god oh god oh god...

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I slapped my cheek, making it pang softly, but my vision stayed clear. I slapped the other cheek, harder now, my eyes watering at the sting. I squeezed them shut and opened them again, but no, Harry was still standing in front of me looking rather shocked.

"Uh, Ginny? You can go and sit over there now," he said to me, pointing at the nearest stand housing Katie and Demelza.

I slapped myself again. "But – are you sure?"

"Yeah," he said, and his face split into a wide smile that would've made me cry if I wasn't dreaming. "Look, I'll have to try and convince you later, the Keepers are getting catty. Just go and sit with Katie and Demelza for now."

I nodded numbly, my feet carrying me to the seat next to Katie, who turned and beamed at me.

"Well done, Ginny! I knew you'd make it."

"Huh?" I replied stupidly, but the attention had been diverted from me to the two new beaters that had just entered the box, followed closely by Ron, who looked smug and arrogant and, well, Ron-like. I pinched my arm again, willing myself to wake up, but the surreal dream floating around me remained.

Harry returned quickly, striding to the front to smile at us all, wringing his hands together. "Well done everyone! I think that went really well, and I reckon we'll have a good chance at the cup this year. Now, I know some of you have some experience in the team," he motioned to Katie, Ron and I, "but for those of you who are new to it, I'll post the practice timetable on the notice board as soon as I can, and if anyone has any problems with it, then just tell me. Well, that's all I have to say really so... well done, everyone. Again."

Everyone stood up to leave but my legs were refusing to cooperate with my brain, no matter how much I glared at them, so I remained sitting, trying to fake nonchalance.

"You alright, Ginny?" Harry asked, gathering together his clipboard and whistle.

"Yeah, fine, fine." I picked at an imaginary piece of lint on my trousers, trying in vain to make sitting in empty quidditch stands look normal.

"I knew you'd be on the team before you even tried out, you know," Harry explained, and my jaw dropped. "I saw you play over summer, and last year. You're better than you think."

Oh god oh god oh god oh god...

I dimly registered voices on the stairs, but Harry had begun to speak again. "How did you learn to fly so well?"

"I've been stealing my brothers' brooms since I was eleven," I blurted out, and then added, "I know how to pick a lock with a hair pin."

He laughed, and then asked, "Did Fred and George teach you?"

I snorted, a natural reaction, and corrected, "I taught Fred and George."

His laughter and my smugness at having singlehandedly managed to make Harry laugh was brutally and inhumanely ripped to shreds and burnt till nothing but charred remains were left to flutter pathetically on the ground by Luna's voice wafting over from the doorway. "Do you really have a bruise shaped like a poodle on your bum, Ginny?"

My mouth dropped open with an audible 'pop' as my dream turned into a nightmare faster than Snape challenged with a bottle of 'Head and Shoulders'. Luna looked generally interested, Harry looked rather freaked out, and Ruth looked gleeful, breaking the oppressing silence by inquiring loudly,

"Are you going to cry now?"

* * *

"I'm sorry, Ginny!" Ruth said, tripping along beside me, the broad smile on her face giving her away. "I didn't know she was going to ask you in front of Harry!"

"I know, I know," I sighed, turning into a corridor occupied by a suspicious looking ghost holding a roll of Spell-o-tape, whose nonchalant whistling did nothing to drown out the muffled banging coming from a broom cupboard next to him. "I'm not angry at you."

"But you are angry," she announced knowingly, and I had no choice but to nod. "I've got a way to help that," she replied, stopping us when we'd turned the corner into a deserted corridor. She looked exaggeratedly to her left and right, and then turned and said to me in a low, menacing voice, "Say the four worst swearwords you know."

Struggling with her request, I burst out, "shit, bugger, damn, tosspot!"

"They're the four worst swearwords you know?" Ruth questioned, her eyebrows raised. I sighed, linking my arms through hers and dragging her along with me.

"I can't think well under pressure."

"But they aren't even swearwords! I would've at least expected you to say fu-"

"Well I'm sorry! Sue me for trying to be polite."

"Polite? Do you even know the meaning of the word?" When I growled, she took that as a 'no' and rushed on. "Are you feeling better though?"

The blistering urge to brutally murder every living thing that moved wasn't so prominent right now, so I thought it was safe to nod and smile.

"Good! See – all the things I do for you! Where would you be without me, eh?"

In a mansion somewhere hot lying on a bed full of money with Harry Potter in my arms? I thought that might've been a little harsh though, so I tried, "Jamaica?"

Ruth patted my hand in a grandmotherly gesture and said, "It's late, Ginny. Maybe we should go back to the common room."

"Yeah, okay. You go, I'll catch up – I just have to return this library book."

She shrugged, bidding me goodbye and leaving me standing alone in the corridor. I breathed out heavily through my nose and turned round, only to scream when I saw someone standing there. It was a small boy, looking to be about eleven, staring at me expectantly. His hair was black and oily and slicked back and his face was pompous.

"Uh, can I help you?" I asked when he continued to gaze. His face triggered off something in the deep, murky, cobwebbed filled depths of my memory, and I faintly recalled seeing it poking round corners and through doorways to stare at me. I also faintly recalled the charms homework that was due in three weeks ago still lying, unfinished, at the bottom of my bag...

"Why, yes," his voice shocked me, and I blinked stupidly at him. It was deep and disgustingly slimy, especially for a midget. He brandished a bunch of what looked like the weird plants from the back of the greenhouse that everyone knows better than to touch, and I jumped back in fright, inwardly cursing myself for being such a God damn chicken. "Your performance on the quidditch pitch, it was exquisite. The shimmer of the sun againsteth thou long, silky lockeths, why, it made thy heart pang. And I have but one request, that thou should take thy flowers as a token of thy eternal gratitude and know that it is the East, and thou are the sun."

"Uh-" was all I managed to stutter before he shoved the 'things' into my hands and swept a deep bow, his forehead almost touching the floor.

"Adieu, my fair lady, adieu!" he cried, pirouetting on the spot and prancing off in what I could only describe as an impression of a disabled crab leaping on hot coals. I stared down at the flowers in my hands, my forehead creased, and then looked back up at the deserted corridor.

I was officially going crazy.

* * *

**A/N: Aren't we all, Ginevra, aren't we all? I don't have anything to put in this Author's Note really, except for:**

**1) Happy Christmas and Happy New Year :D**

**And that's me done. As usual, I'd appreciate ANY reviews to tell me how you feel, I do reply to them ALL (and if i don't reply to yours you have my permission to send me some serious hate mail) and reviews are to writers as snoring is to Ron. Simple :)**

**- SprayPaintedShoes**


	11. Chapter 11: Shaking Tribal Weapons

**A/N: I can only apologise for the length of time it's taken me to write this chapter. It's definitely not my favorite and it's full of stupid mistakes that I'm too lazy to correct right now. If you find any, tell me and I'll try and change them :)**

_**Disclaimer: I don't own HARRY POTTER or Shakespeare. I do, however, own the greasy-haired git who is so fond of reciting it.

* * *

**_

CHAPTER 11

"Wait – tell me again what he said."

I'd repeated it to her so many times that tt came out almost mechanically. I considered writing it down to save Ruth from having to ask me but I think Luna stole my quill to make a shoe horn or something, so instead I'd resorted to memorising it.

"He said something about eternal gratitude, the east, and me being the sun. And then he bowed and pranced off," I recited, stabbing at my ham sandwich with a vengeance that all other lunchtime snacks should fear and tell their grandkids about to make them eat their sprouts. I wasn't having a good day. At all. I'd woken up late again, which meant I'd barrelled straight into the bathroom door – again. I'd also gotten ready in such a rush that I accidentally put on odd socks.

"I don't understand that, though," I said after a while, interrupting Ruth's musings.

"What? The prancing? That's perfectly understandable. Plenty of people like to prance -"

"No, not the prancing, the east business. Aren't we in the north?"

"Isn't that Shakespeare?" Luna asked from the other side of me, busy fashioning a hat out of her Herbology homework, to the discomfort of the poor first-years around her. One was clutching their golden plate between their fingers, ready to shield themselves with it if 'that freaky Ravenclaw girl' decided to attack them with her deathly 'Discuss the advantages and disadvantages of Venomous Tantacula' crown.

"Isn't that geography?"

"Isn't that weird?" I asked desperately.

"Calm down, Ginny. This is Hogwarts. Plenty of people are weird. Dumbledore, Trelawney, Mrs Norris – have you seen that cat eat?" I shook my head, too bemused to ask Ruth when she'd seen Mrs Norris eat. "Trust me," Ruth answered my shaking head, "you don't want to."

"But I bet Mrs Norris doesn't shake tribal weapons!" I exclaimed.

"Shakespeare is a famous writer, Ginny," Luna told me in such an un-Luna way, and which contrasted greatly with her radish earrings, Herbology-hat and knee high, stripy green socks. McGonagall had called them 'unacceptable', but Luna had protested that they were perfectly school regulation and continued to wear them even after we'd reminded her that she wasn't in Slytherin. "Not a weapon."

"The way he says it could well kill me one day!"

"Point him out to me," Ruth commanded, already looking around the Hall.

"Look for greasy black hair," I instructed them both, straining my neck as I eyed all of the students busy eating their lunches.

"Ooh!" Luna squealed after a while, causing the surrounding students to jump and the first year to fling his plate in front of his face, spraying macaroni cheese everywhere. As I followed Luna's outstretched finger, I heard Ruth sigh.

"That's Harry, Luna."

"Oh."

After five more minutes of narrow-eyed searching, in which Luna pointed out Harry a further two times, Hagrid twice, a bowl of blackberries once and her own shoe more frequently than the rest put together, I sighed.

"We won't find him with all these people here."

"I'm sure we'll find him at dinner," Ruth assured me with a comforting pat on the shoulder.

"It might be too late by then!"

"Have you thought of going to McGonagall?" Ruth asked, flicking a piece of macaroni cheese off her potions essay.

"He's only spoken to me once, there's not really any point. Besides, what do I say? Some greasy-haired kid with flowers is stalking me?"

"Ooh!"

"Still your shoe, Luna," Ruth sighed, glancing at Luna's outstretched finger. "Well, if you see him again, I reckon you should go."

"I might not make it there if I see him again," I grumbled, glaring at my ham sandwich and internally blaming it for everything that had gone wrong today. My headache, my socks, my stalker...

"Ginny," Ruth said, getting up and swinging her bag onto her shoulder. "You aren't going to die at the hands of someone who prances and recites Shakespeare, okay?"

"Well if I do," I grumbled, "I'm blaming you."

* * *

I was on my way to Charms when I ran into _him_ again. I was alone – Ruth had a careers meeting with McGonagall. I was hurrying down the Charms corridor, my footsteps echoing on the cold stone floor and bouncing off the walls, so it took me a while to notice a second pair of footsteps syncopating mine. They were light, lithe and – prance-like. I spun round and, as sure as my socks were odd, he was standing there. Grinning.

"What do you want?" I groaned.

"Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?" He outstretched his hand in front of him and I moved back instinctively, avoiding his slimy paws.

"I'd rather you left me alone, to be honest."

"Thou art more lovely and more temperate -"

"And thou art bloody annoying!" I cursed the bit inside of me that felt pity for the sad git as his face fell. "Look, I'm really, uh – well it's nice that you like me enough to - um, stalk me, but it's a bit annoying. So, stop it, I suppose."

He continued to look pathetically depressed, staring at the floor in his too-big robes.

"What's your name, anyway?"

"What's in a name? That which we call a rose by any other name would smell as sweet."

I gave his smarmy smirk a flat look that had seen gnomes bigger than him cower and flee from the crazed red-head in fright. As I turned to walk away – I was at least ten minutes late for Charms now – he spoke again.

"It's Nathanial. It means gift from God, baby."

What, now he'd moved onto Elvis? He had the hair for it, at least. I turned to look at his smug, eyebrow-raising face and groaned.

"Then God must bloody hate me."

* * *

I edged into charms, apologising to Flitwick for my tardiness before dropping onto a bench beside Colin. I shivered against the autumn cold and tucked my feet underneath myself.

"We'll be continuing with the advanced banishing charms from last lesson; I think we could do with a bit more practice. Now remember, I don't want to see any wand twirling. It's a graceful _swish _with a small twist at the end," Flitwick squeaked from his pile of textbooks. "Come on, off you go!"

A Hufflepuff prefect weaved around the desks in the classroom, depositing a piece of scrap parchment in front of each of us. We used to use pillows, but Flitwick had vowed to never again let us touch such a thing - last lesson we'd gotten too excited with our ability to make them fly across the room and had ended up making them fly, rather quickly, at other people, mainly professor Flitwick, who had spent the majority of the lesson under his desk, cursing and exclaiming that only _we_ were capable of turning something soft and fluffy into a weapon of mass destruction. He couldn't look at a pillow in the same way anymore. I heard he slept on a pile of sweaters. He was getting therapy.

I pulled my bag onto the table and began to rifle through it to look for my wand. I didn't notice the Huffepuff prefect behind me 'til he stumbled and jerked me forward, emptying the contents of my bag out onto the desk. I turned to growl at him, receiving a crazed look back. I perched on the bench on the balls of my feet, my knees bent, ready to lean over and grab the book that had half fallen off the table, but I couldn't seem to gather together enough energy. So, without bothering to tidy my stuff away, I rested my forehead on the cool, wooden table for a second. This bad day was just getting worse. Socks, doors, stalkers, Shakespeare… and I think I felt the makings of a cold coming on.

I heard Colin speak from beside me. "Is this my scrap piece of parchment, Ginny?"

I grumbled some incoherent words to the desk, then, with much struggle, managed to slump my head to the side. I looked at Colin, fiddling about with his wand, the crease between his eyebrows evident as he repeated the charm over under his breath, trying to get the pronunciation right, pointing his wand at the desk, his mouth opened and ready to say the incantation as he aimed for the parchment with the left corner folded over and the bottom right hand side ripped on a diagonal and the very familiar hand-writing scrawled all over it, making endless lists and instructions and -

Oh, crap.

"Colin!" I cried, sitting up immediately. "Stop!"

He paused, turning to look at me. "What?"

"Sorry, that's my piece of parchment. My only one left, I really need it. I think your one fell onto the floor."

"Oh, sorry, Ginny," he replied, smiling and handing me back the piece of parchment, and I smiled back because Operation: SQUIB was safe in my hands.

But of course, being a Weasley, and a person who thinks first and acts later, it didn't go like that at all. It happened in slow motion and went something like this:

Oh, crap.

He began to say the first word of the charm, and I went into panic mode. What should I do? What _could_ I do? He was going to banish the operation! I hadn't sat through endless hours of Hermione's planning and Ruth's scheming and Luna's Luna-ing just to have Colin banish it away to some oblivion!

I screamed a very slow, drawn out, unusually low pitched 'no!' and a burst of adrenaline shot through me. I was already perched on the balls of my feet, so I snapped my legs straight and launched myself over the desk in the direction of the parchment. Luckily, I managed to grasp it between my fingers before it fell prey to Colin's terrible charm-work, but unluckily, I realised all too late that I had put a bit too much force into my jump. Enough force to send me sailing right over the table. I threw my arms out in front of me, my belly turning upside down as I ran out of table to dive over and plunged to the floor on the other side, scattering the whole contents of my bag in every direction off the table. I landed with a painful 'plunk' on my back on the floor on the other side of the desk, having done a sort of somersault while falling. There was yet another egg on my head and my wrist was throbbing horribly.

I raised my head after a couple of seconds, the room blurring into a spongy mess of brown and black. When it had refocused, I saw that the whole classroom had watched my crazy leap over the table, and were surveying me with looks of shock and horror, most questioning my sanity.

There was a slight pause, and then the whole classroom burst into fits of laughter. I blushed so deeply that my hair looked light compared to my complexion and raised myself to shaking legs, wobbling dangerously. Colin, who was in fits of laughter, said between snorts,

"Wha-what where you, ha, trying to d-d-do?"

I looked down, scowling at the floor and wishing it would open up, swallow me whole, take me back to the day I started Hogwarts, stop myself from starting Hogwarts and allow me to spend the rest of my life scaring gnomes and growing pumpkins and feeding chickens and musing about the weather-these-days.

"You had my parchment," I mumbled, but he didn't hear. He was too busy laughing. Like everyone else.

Professor Flitwick scuttled over, his face red from trying to refrain from laughing too.

"Are you alright, Ms Weasley?"

"I think I've hurt my hand," I said, desperate for any means to get the Hell out of the classroom. Flitwick obviously needed me out so he could succumb to his laughter, as he said without a second question, "oh, okay. Hurry along to the Hospital Wing, Ms Weasley."

But it wasn't that easy. I had to spend a further ten minutes among everyone's sniggering and giggling as I gathered the possessions of my bag. When I finally got out I leaned my face forward against the cold, stone wall and growled loudly, venting my anger by kicking it. Hard.

"Bugger!" I cursed when a pain shot through my foot, grasping my injured toe between my hands. I began to bang my head repeatedly against the wall, wincing with every strike, hoping to kill enough brain cells that they'd just send me home to a life of gnomes and carrots. That thought was becoming more appealing with each passing day.

"Ms. Weasley?" a sharp voice from down the corridor said. I snapped my head up quickly, my cheeks flushing again, to see Professor McGonagall staring at me. But, from here, it looked like she had a slight smile on her face. I'd obviously killed more brain cells than I'd thought. "What has that wall ever done to you?"

And then she walked away.

* * *

"You fell off a table?"

"Jumped off the table, more like! Flung herself right off it, she did!"

"No, I -"

"Why in Merlin's pants would you jump off a table?"

"I didn't -"

"I don't know, it's Ginny, isn't it? She does crazy things all of the time! Like back in fourth year when she shoved two crystal balls up her -"

"Colin!" I interrupted him loudly, not wanting Dean to know what Ginny does to Trelawney's teaching equipment when she has had too much chocolate. The daggers I was shooting Colin obviously reached him as he jumped out of his seat, saying quickly,

"Well, I better get to dinner. Hope your hand gets better, Ginny! Bye, Dean."

When the door had closed behind him, Dean turned to me, his eyebrows asking the question for him.

"Crystal balls?"

"Don't ask," I mumbled into a pillow. I was sitting upright in one of the Hospital Wing beds, having been forced into one by a surprisingly strong Madame Pomfrey. Dean was perched on the stool next to the bed.

"I don't think I want to," he replied, a grim look on his face. I smiled, and he leaned in to brush his lips lightly across mine. I responded with a little too much enthusiasm for the fortunately empty Hospital Wing, hoping to Merlin that whatever Pomfrey was doing would keep her there for a while.

Dean's hands came up to cup my face, the pads of his thumbs stroking my cheekbones. I sighed into his lips, my uninjured hand coming to rest on his toe-ball toned chest.

It was times like these, when I was kissing Dean in completely inappropriate places, when he reminded me that he _was _my boyfriend, and for good reason. I couldn't help the wave of guilt that accompanied the image of Harry in my head. I was so concentrated on getting Harry to like me that I'd completely forgotten about Dean. The feelings I had for Harry might have been more intense than the ones I had for Dean, but I still liked Dean. A lot. Enough to confuzzle me to the point where my head was bursting and my eyes were crossed and I was using words like 'confuzzle'.

And yet, all good things must come to an end. My moment of confused happiness came to an end when the Hospital Wing door flew open, and my two partners-in-crime came charging through.

"Ginny!" Ruth yelled, seeming oblivious to the way Dean and I were tangled around each other. "Colin just told me what happened. Did you really throw yourself off a table?"

"No," I sighed as Ruth took the stool on the opposite side of the bed and Luna drifted off somewhere, still sporting her Herbology Hat. "Colin's over-exaggerating."

"So you didn't climb onto the table, scream 'Screw you!' and jump off?"

"No! I was leaning over to get something and I, well – fell."

"Oh, that's not nearly as fun as I'd imagined," Ruth grumbled.

"Oh, well I'm awfully sorry my pain wasn't humorous enough for you."

"Does it hurt very much?" Ruth asked with sincerity that pulled a smile onto my face. Ruth was definitely a split-personality kind o' gal. One moment, she's screaming and you and the next, she's baking you cookies. Peanut ones.

"It's not too bad," I admitted, feeling the pain in my wrist throb in protest.

"Maybe you should take some of the potion Pomfrey gave you?" Dean suggested, grasping my uninjured hand in his larger one. I made a face, recalling the first time Pomfrey had made me take it. It had barely touched my tongue before I'd started choking. Just the memory made me gag.

"Uh-uh, no way. That stuff tastes like sprouts and Ron's feet."

"I'm sure it's not that bad," Dean assured me, looking around for my potion. It was sitting in the same position; on my bedside table. However, Luna was now standing next to it, holding a spoon of white crystals over the mouth of the bottle.

"Luna!" three simultaneous voices screamed. She turned, the spoon poised above the bottle, her face a mask of innocence.

"What?"

"What're you doing?" Ruth demanded.

"I'm just putting some Snorkack essence into Ginny's wrist medicine. It helps re-grow the bones and makes you immune to attacks from any form of Yellow-Footed Gizzard."

"Luna," Dean said, leaning closer to the spoon to inspect its contents. "That's just sugar."

"Well," Ruth announced, after a slight pause in which we all stared at Luna and Luna whistled 'a cauldron full of hot strong love' under her breath. "A spoonful of sugar does help the medicine go down."

Dean snorted and Luna bemusedly dropped the sugar into a potted plant resting on the windowsill.

"What?" I asked, my gaze switching from a grinning Ruth and a guffawing Dean.

"It's Mary Poppins!"

"Mary-what-now?"

"Poppins!" Ruth was giggling too now and I felt very left out of this little private snigger they were having.

"Oh, the famous Ice Queen," Luna said knowingly, nodding her head. Dean stopped guffawing to raise his eyebrows at Luna, whereas Ruth broke into peals of laughter that echoed off the stone walls and floors.

"Uh, Mary Poppins is a nanny, Luna. In a children's story," Dean said hesitantly over Ruth's chuckles. Luna's eyebrows rose so far they became lost in her hairline as she whispered,

"That's what they want you to think."

* * *

Dean, Ruth and Luna, who was still singing 'a cauldron full of hot strong love', left shortly after for dinner. I had to wait to get the 'all clear' from Pomfrey, which I got pretty quickly when she finally arrived. I was walking down the corridor on the way to dinner, minding my own business, when I heard the echo of another pair of footprints. I slowed to a halt, my eyes narrowing. I spun round, ready to bite the head off of that greasy little git, but there was no need.

"Hi, Ginny."

"Hey Harry." I smiled at him as he fell into step beside me. I noticed that he'd grown taller – my head barely reached his shoulder. His hair had gotten longer and, if possible, messier. But he looked good. He looked more than good.

"I heard you were in the Hospital Wing," he said, momentarily stunning me when his brilliant emerald eyes met mine. I wondered if he could hear the tango going on in my heart. I wondered if he wanted to tango with me. I wondered if he wanted me full-stop.

I held up my bandaged hand as proof, grimacing when I said, "I sort of fell off a table."

He laughed a beautiful laugh that would break angels' hearts, and that definitely broke mine. Broken or not, however, it was still tangoing. "What were you doing on the table in the first place?"

"It's a long story."

"Will you be alright for quidditch?"

"I think I'll manage," I said with a small smile. Wait – where did that come from? No stuttering? No stumbling? No blurting out embarrassing bruise placements? Who was this Ginny that had taken over my speech and body? I was actually managing to act – normal - around Harry.

"Good, because I don't think we'd be able to manage without you if you couldn't play for a while." Was I imagining the tint of red on his cheeks?

"Are you going to Hogsmeade next month?" I asked, while inwardly marveling that I'd actually asked Harry a question.

"Yeah, I think so. Are you?"

"Yeah, I need new quidditch boots." Mine were Fred's old ones, and had so many holes in them that only half of the boot was actually made out of material.

"Are you going with Dean?" Now, I'm no expert at nonchalance, but did that question seem a little forced to anyone else? Half of the mini-Ginnys in my head raised their puny little hands, while the rest insisted that I was hearing what I wanted to hear, and to stop talking to myself. The others also agreed with that last point.

"Yeah, I think so. Dean wants to go with Seamus and that though, too." I couldn't keep the grumble out of my voice, and Harry obviously noticed it, as he laughed.

"You don't like Seamus?"

"It's not that I don't like him. He's a nice guy, he just – he's annoying sometimes."

"Try sharing a dormitory with him," Harry chuckled.

I laughed along too, feeling truly happy for the first time that day. "I feel sorry for you. You have a share a dormitory with Seamus and Ron."

"You get used to the smell after a while," Harry told me with mock seriousness. "The first few months were Hell though. I considered putting a bubble-head charm around me while I slept."

"It would've gotten through."

"There's no escaping it."

"It's dangerous."

"It's deadly."

"Hey, isn't Ron meant to be your best friend? Aren't you meant to be sticking up for him?" I laughed. I couldn't care less at that point whether Harry hated Ron as long as he kept smiling that dimple-smile.

"Isn't he your brother? Aren't you meant to be sticking up for him?"

"I'm allowed to insult Ron. It's in the sibling code."

"The sibling code?" He asked, smiling through his confusion. I nodded, feeling a pang in my stomach as we reached the doors of the Great Hall, the swell of noise engulfing us. "Well, I better go find smelly - I mean, Ron," Harry said, winking at me in a heart-stopping, jelly-legging sort of way that he must've practiced in the mirror, because no wink was that perfect.

"See you," I replied with a small wave. He turned to walk away, but after taking only a couple of steps he turned again, now sporting a sexy smirk that made my jaw drop and my skin tingle. How could he be so damn seductive? With just a _smirk_?

"Oh, and Ginny?" I nodded feebly, not trusting the use of my voice. His smirk grew wider as he said simply, "nice socks" and then ran off to sit with the previously mentioned Boy-Who-Smelt.

As I watched him leave, I smiled to myself. I'd managed a conversation with Harry in which I didn't splutter, fall over, spill anything, hurt anyone, say anything inappropriate, snort, get spinach stuck in my teeth or giggle like a five year old. We had been two people chatting together and musing over my brother's stench. And that felt pretty damn good. And it didn't matter that my socks were odd or my head was hurting or my wrist was sprained, because my very bad day had quickly become a very, very good day.

* * *

**A/N: Why can't Harry Potter come and make my bad days into good days? I know this chapter isn't the best, but I'd still appreciate it if you could tell me what you think of it. Thanks so much to everyone who reviewed on the last chapter and put my story in their favorites - you all make me so happy :)**

**Any of you who have me on Author Alert will know that I posted a new story the other week. It's a collection of moments during Harry's time in Hogwarts in which Severus Snape realises just how much Harry is like Lily. It's angsty, so beware :)**

**Thanks for reading, and I'll try get the next chapter up as soon as I can.**

**- SprayPaintedShoes**


	12. Chapter 12: Madam Puddifoot's

**A/N: I have to thank all of the people who reviewed the last chapter for the speediness of this chapter, because their reviews made me want to update :) So cyber-cookies for them (Y)**

**Disclaimer: If I was Shakespeare I'd be dead, and if I was JKR I'd be rich. Me? Well, I'm neither :)**

* * *

CHAPTER 12 - Madam Puddifoot's

Scarf? Check. Jumper? Check. Underwear? Check. Pants? Check.

"Come on, Ginny!" Ruth screamed from halfway down the dormitory stairs. I glared in the direction of her voice, yelling back,

"I'm coming! I'm just making sure I've got everything. And you've just made me lose count so now I'll have to start all over again."

Scarf? Check. Jumper? Check. Hat? Check. Shoes? Check.

"Oh, come on," Ruth whined, stomping up the stairs to poke her head through the door. "You've been at it for the past ten minutes. How many times do you need to check that you're definitely wearing pants?"

"You can never check too many times," I replied wisely, tucking my hat and gloves under my arm and stuffing my feet into shoes.

"Well guess what? You just did!" Ruth said sarcastically, grasping my upper arm to drag me into the common room and out into the corridor. We wandered aimlessly down to the Great Hall, following the muted babble that could be heard even up here.

"Oh, Miss Weasley!"

I turned at the sound of my voice to see McGonagall hurrying towards me. My stomach dropped guiltily, even though I couldn't recall doing anything wrong in the past few days. It was a side-effect of being a troublemaker. "Could you give this to Mr Potter for me, please?"

Oh Merlin, if people didn't stop mentioning his name soon my heart was going to pogo right on out of my chest. Imagine the looks on the poor first years' faces if a bouncing heart were to come whizzing down the corridor towards them. As if Peeves wasn't enough to scar them for life.

I was still buzzing over mine and Ha-his conversation more than two weeks ago, and not just because it had sprouted off many more smiles and pleasant banter between me and The-You-Know-Who-Without-The-Red-Eyes-And-Squashed-Nose over the last few weeks. Pleasant banter that had kept my heart on a twenty-four-seven tango dance that rattled my insides and fogged up my brain.

"Um, sure," I replied, taking a tightly furled roll of parchment from her outstretched hand. As she thanked me and trotted away, I glanced at the long, elegant script on the front. "It's Dumbledore's writing," I told Ruth as we began to move again, frowning. "What does Dumbledore want with Harry?"

"What doesn't Dumbledore want with Harry? He's The Chosen One, isn't he? Maybe it's something to do with that?"

"If Dumbledore wants to speak to Harry about something like that, why doesn't he see him in person? Rather than writing it down? It's not very safe, is it?" I mused, rotating the parchment with my fingers.

"Open it and see what it's about," Ruth suggested. I gasped, my shock making it rather more over-dramatic than intended, but it still had the desired effect.

"Ruth!"

"What?"

"We couldn't possibly do something like that!" I told her, hoping she wouldn't see my pinky-finger slide under the seal and realise just how much I wanted to open the letter.

"You're right," she admitted finally, to my surprise. In our relationship, I was the one with the morals. Ruth lied and joked and opened personal letters containing secret and valuable information concerning Chosen-Ones' futures, while I baked cakes and helped old people cross roads. "We probably wouldn't be able to close the seal again."

There's the Ruth we all know and love!

"Well," I blurted out before I could let my responsibility take over and ruin all of the fun. "Harry doesn't have to know it was sealed in the first place. I'm sure I can charm it closed again without him noticing."

"Ginny!" Ruth exclaimed in horror as we turned the corner, adding afterwards in an undertone, "Do you reckon that would work?"

I shrugged, hearing the clatter of knives and forks grow louder. We needed to act fast. I tossed the parchment into Ruth's hands, where she fumbled with it for a second.

"I don't know, try."

"Wait - why me?"

"Because I can't do it!" I said as if it were the most obvious thing in the world, which it should have been, really. Ruth had known me long enough to become familiar with my good friend, Miss Conscience, who liked to peek in from time to time when I was doing my usual line-toeing. Breaking rules wasn't a problem, hating Romilda was acceptable - it was things that could affect people that I liked that gave me the funny feeling in my stomach. And because my feelings for Harry stretched a tad father than 'liking him', my stomach was pretty much tangoing along with my heart.

"Why can't you?" Ruth asked, puzzled.

"Because I have morals. You don't."

"I do too have morals!" Ruth argued, though she didn't look too sure of herself, and her hand was itching towards the seal just as mine had been.

"I think you're confusing 'morals' with 'marbles'. But then again, you don't have any of them either, do you?"

Ruth's eyes narrowed in my direction and I stuck my tongue out at her in the most mature way I could muster. We rounded into the Great Hall, weaving our way between the Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw tables to find a seat among the Gryffindors.

As we grew closer to Harry, I heard him scoff,

"And they'd love to have me. We'd be best pals if they didn't keep trying to do me in."

Someone wanted to do Harry in? Why did everyone seem so intent on harming my future husband? Did the world want me to grow old a spinster, living in a cardboard-box flat with more cats than clothes and the nearest takeaway on speed-dial?

"Hey Harry," I said, distracting him from the obvious 'in-joke' the trio was having, while Ruth wandered off to find a seat. He looked up at me, the smile still playing on his face, and my heart shrugged into its tap-shoes and bounced all over my ribs. "I'm supposed to give you this."

Was the fire erupting on my skin when his hand brushed my fingertips normal? Or should I see Pomfrey about a serious case of Pepper-Up overdose?

"Thanks, Ginny." The way my name rolled off his tongue made my legs turn to jelly. I hoped they would turn back soon otherwise I'd be wobbling all over Hogsmeade. "It's Dumbledore's next lesson!" he told Hermione and Ron, and my ears automatically zoned in on what he was saying, while I did my best to hum nonchalantly like a person who wasn't eavesdropping on their future lover's private conversations. "Monday evening!"

Lesson? Dumbledore was giving Harry lessons? On what? Defence against the Dark Arts? Gobbledegook? Cookery? All of my speculating was wiped clean out of my head, however, when Harry turned to me and said,

"Want to join us in Hogsmeade, Ginny?"

Oh Merlin, please! Yes, of course I bloody well do! But alas, Dean and I had been planning to go together. I think he wanted it to be 'romantic', but I doubted that windswept hair and runny noses and several layers of puffy clothes could be considered romantic. Rose petals and sunsets and chiselled features were romantic, not rain and butterbeer.

"I'm going with Dean – might see you there," I replied, trying and failing to make my wave enthusiastic. I left to squeeze myself between Ruth and Jayson in the seat she had saved for me.

"Hi," Jayson greeted me, smiling.

"Hi," I replied. "What's up?"

"Not much. How's the hand?"

I laughed, showing him my perfectly healed wrist. Thanks to Collin the whole school was under the impression that Ginny Weasley was suicidal, but if it meant that I got the good couches in the common room because people were too scared to sit next to me then, hey, I wasn't complaining.

"Did you find out what the letter said?" Ruth asked from the other side of me as Jayson struck up a conversation with Dean and Seamus, sitting opposite.

"Yeah," I replied, and then relayed the conversation to her in an undertone.

"Lessons?" She echoed when I had finished.

"Mhm," I mumbled, my mouth full of cornflakes. I swallowed, letting Arnold nibble on a few I'd scattered on the table for him. "What do you reckon they're for?"

"Well, we can probably discount anything like knitting or pottery making, I can't see that helping Harry defeat You-Know-Who much."

"You never know," I joked back, "those knitting needles can be pretty sharp."

"I can see the headlines now," Ruth laughed, holding her hands out in front of her. "The Great Dark Lord – killed by a pair of knitting needles that strayed too far from their sweater."

"Oh, you read that, did you?" Luna's voice came from behind me, and I turned to see her standing there, grinning like a Cheshire cat. She wore her butterbeer cork necklace outside of her red T-shirt, which together with her orange leggings and green boots made her look like those trapping lights in the photos dad liked to stick to his bedroom walls.

"Read what?" Ruth asked for me while I studied Luna's many bracelets encircling her skinny wrist. After realising that one was made entirely out of what looked like human hair I quickly averted my eyes.

"The article in the Quibbler about the demise of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, due to a brave old woman in Yorkshire who stabbed him with her knitting needles when he tried to steal her potted plants."

It was funny how crickets found the time to chirp at ten o'clock in the morning.

"Uh, Luna?" I said tentatively after a pause, sharing an apprehensive look with Ruth. "He isn't dead."

"Yeah," Ruth added on when Luna's brow furrowed. "We were just messing around, making stuff up. We never read the Quibbler."

Luna's reaction was somewhat different to what I had expected. Her mystic eyes grew, if possible, even wider, and her mouth popped open.

"But – oh Merlin. Have either of you ever considered the possibility that you may possess the inner-eye?"

"Since when do you quote Trelawney?" I asked. Everyone seemed to be quoting these days – Shakespeare, Trelawney... I needed to find someone to quote. Or become more quotable myself.

"I'm being serious!" A sentence that can never be trusted or believed when coming out of a Lovegood's mouth. "You may be a seer! You knew what was in the article before you even read it!"

"Luna," Ruth said, standing up and swinging her bag over her shoulder. I mimicked her, pulling on my hat and gloves too. "Saying Ginny and I are Seers is like saying Snape is secretly the Fairy Queen of rainbows and butterflies."

As we walked away, we heard an astounded Luna yell after us,

"But that article isn't coming out until next week!"

* * *

"So, where do you want to go?"

The wind was attacking the little town of Hogsmeade with a vengeance, battering shop signs and slamming doors on unsuspecting towns-folk's fingers. Dean and I were battling our way down the road, our scarves pulled high around our necks and our gloved fingers intertwined.

"I don't mind," I replied, straining my voice over the roaring in my ears. I just hoped we got inside soon because I seriously doubted that my ears were still attached to my head; I'd stopped being able to feel them about an hour ago.

"How about here?" I heard Dean's voice ask, and turned to see where he was gesturing to. My eyes were bombarded with frills, bouquets and lots of pink, all twisted together with the vile sounds of French music that set off my gag reflex.

"You have got to be kidding me," I begged, my voice flatter than a pancake as I surveyed the sign that declared Madam Puddifoot's to be open for business – something that should have been made illegal a long time ago.

"What?" Dean asked, his voice defensive. A couple emerged from the shop, and as the door closed behind them with an annoying tinkle I got a waft of something heavy and floral.

"Here?" I affirmed, pulling a face. He nodded, and I elaborated just to be sure he was aware of the physical pain we would be submitting ourselves to by just walking inside. "Madam Puddifoot's?" Nod. "A café?" Nod. "With doilies and china and menus written in French?"

"It's romantic," he argued.

"It's disgusting."

"It's warm," he pressed, his voice heavy with temptation that I just wasn't buying, thank you very much.

"So is the Three Broomsticks."

"The Three Broomsticks is so crowded," Dean complained, his voice verging on a whine. "And everyone's in the Three Broomsticks."

"You say crowded, I say cosy," I stated, ignoring the hand that was tugging on my own.

"You say disgusting, I say romantic," he countered.

"You've got to be either stupid or insane," I said, pointing through the window to a framed picture of a kitten on the wall. Arnold growled at me from his position inside my hood, and I wholeheartedly agreed with him. That kitten looked evil. "Is there something you aren't telling me, Dean?"

He rolled his eyes at me and pulled me towards the café, his hand holding mine tight and preventing all escape routes. As his hand reached for the polished brass doorknob, I considered screaming for help or attempting to Apparate away having never Apparated before in my life - splinching myself would be a better fate than what was waiting for me in there.

Dean practically had to throw me over the threshold and when my foot hit the patterned pink carpet I swear my toes shrivelled up inside my boots and died.

Dean found us a booth towards the back of the café, the seats adorned with plush velvet cushions and the table a giant mass of doily Hell. I slid gingerly into the seat opposite Dean, wincing as my bum sank deeply into the cushions. I wouldn't be able to make a speedy exit if my bum couldn't negotiate its way out of the pillow attached to it.

"See? This isn't so bad, is it?" Dean said brightly, looking around the café.

"You so owe me," I groaned, flicking something white and lacy off the table and onto the floor while pretending not to see Dean rolling his eyes at me. Arnold poked his fuzzy little head out of the hood of my jacket when I took it off, narrowing his eyes at Dean in a deathly glare. I made sure to put my hat on top of him, muting the angry buzzing sounds he was making.

A male waiter approached us sporting a suit and a moustache that could rival Slughorn's.

"Can I take your order?"

I had to hold back a snort; the sentence was dripping in a French accent that was about as real as the plastic flowers poised in a vase in the centre of the table.

"I'll have a coffee please," Dean told him, signalling to me to order as if I wouldn't have known to without the pointed look he shot me.

"Hot chocolate, please."

"Bien, merci," he replied, walking away.

I surveyed the other couples occupying the café with a narrowed eye. In here, everyone and everything was an enemy, right from the plush, butt-trapping cushions to the elderly lady with candy floss hair cleaning pink coffee mugs behind the counter. Dean saw my cagey expression and sighed, a small smile playing on his mouth.

"What is it about this place that you hate?"

I pulled a face, internally pulling out the 'Top Five Reasons Ginny Hates Madam Puddifoot's' list out of the rather messy and disordered filling cabinet that made up my mind.

1) Harry bought Chang here last year.

2) Everything is French.

3) I hate pink with a passion.

4) Lace gives me the creeps – who knows what those doilies could achieve in the wrong person's hands?

5) Whenever you pick up your mug you get the biggest urge to stick out your little finger.

I thought I'd summarise for Dean.

"Everything!" I exclaimed. "The frills are fake, the pink is prissy and lace is downright lethal. Plus," I added in an undertone, a knowing look on my face, "they torture kittens in the kitchens."

"They do not," Dean protested, laughing.

"They do! What do you think secret ingredient in Madam Puddifoot's Scrumptious Surprise is?" I asked, eyeing the menu and picking off the first choice I saw.

"I don't know, sugar?"

"Nope," I said, popping the 'p' as I shook my head. "Kittens."

"They do not put kittens in the cakes, Ginny."

"They do indeed. They're evil, evil people."

"And how do you know that?"

"I'd rather not talk about it, thank you very much," I sniffed, taking the hot chocolate the waiter placed between me in my hands to warm them up. "It was a very horrifying experience that has scarred me for life, and I fear I will never be the same again."

"Well, I think it's nice here," Dean stated simply, leaning forward to grasp one of my hands in his. "We can talk in here."

"As opposed to all the other times in school when we walk around in silence?" I added on sarcastically.

"Ginny," he groaned, his face pulling into a puppy-dog frown that made the kittens prancing about in portraits on the walls huff and stick their pink button noses up at him. I felt my hat vibrate against my thigh and considered letting Arnold out to wreak havoc.

"We could talk anywhere we wanted, but you had to pick here?"

"It's the only place in Hogsmeade we could go besides the Three Broomsticks. And this is much better than being cramped up around the one table listening to Seamus trying to chat up Rosmerta."

"Cosy, not cramped. But you are right, I could do without that," I replied. Seamus could make cheese cringe his chat up lines were so horrific. It was almost embarrassing watching him shoot them continually at Rosmerta's boobs, no matter how many times she pointedly ignored him.

"Did it hurt when you fell from heaven?" Dean asked in a perfect imitation of Seamus. I sniggered, receiving annoyed glances from couples on neighbouring tables trying to have 'moments'.

"Are you from Jamaica? 'Cus Ja-makin'-me-crazy!" My Irish accent wasn't as good, but Dean was nice enough to chuckle all the same, earning us many more irritated glances and a 'tsk!' from someone to the left of us.

"Is there an airport nearby or is that just my heart taking off?"

I muffled my loud giggles with my hand at Dean's impeccable Irish accent and pathetically hopeful smile, though the sound still disturbed the tinkling French music playing in the background as the people around us declared their love for each other in soft undertones. One couple to the right that I recognised – they were from Hogwarts too – had spent the last five minutes gazing into each other's eyes with stupid smiles on their faces. I doubted they'd notice if I jumped onto the table and started tap dancing in front of them. Naked.

I was giggling too much to go on, so Dean continued for me,

"If I were to rearrange alphabet, I would put U and I together."

I couldn't help it – I burst into fits of laughter. Dean laughed too, though through chuckles he managed to whisper,

"Ssh, you're going to get us chucked out!" He gestured to the waiter who had served us earlier and who was now glaring at us, his pink-feathered quill poised in his hand like a weapon.

"Screw them," I said simply, manoeuvring my buttocks from the pillow and grabbing my scarf, gloves and rejoicing Arnold. "I'm getting out of here before they get the chance."

As I stood up to leave Dean surprised me by following me from the café, still chuckling. An icy blast of wind hit us as we stepped outside, and I pulled my coat tighter around my body.

"Where do we go now?" Dean asked, glancing up and down the street. "The Three Broomsticks looks full."

"If you want to be alone," I suggested playfully, feeling awfully confident for some reason. "I can think of much better places to go than the Madam Puddifoot's. And much better things to do than just talk."

My suggestive wink made him laugh as he laced his fingers through mine. "You sound just like Seamus, you know that?"

"I do try," I replied with a smirk. We wandered aimlessly up the street, glancing in the occasional shop window. I snuggled closer to Dean as his arm wrapped around my waist, and although this meant we were more hobbling than walking, it was comfy.

We talked as we walked, Dean making me laugh with more chat up lines he'd heard Seamus use. It was like I was a completely different person when I was with Dean, a different Ginny. When I was with Dean, I was the Ginny who didn't care about anyone else, and who was perfectly happy snuggled up with her boyfriend, not worrying about Operations and plans. Yet, when I was with Harry, I got the overwhelming need to make him like me, to get to know him and to just be with him. When I was with Dean, I needed nothing else, yet Harry made me want more. And if my head had anything to say about it, it was telling me that there was only room for one Ginny in there.

And I'd have to choose pretty soon.

When our noses were too red to feel and our boots were soaked through, Dean and I finally called it a day and began to trudge back through the icy sludge up to the castle.

The warmth inside made my cold fingers itch as they steadily defrosted. We hurried up to the common room to change into dry clothes for dinner. When we'd finally gotten past the Fat Lady, who'd demanded that we stay and listen to her sing before she let us in, we clambered groggily into the exceedingly busy common room, where everyone was squeezed together like 'sardines in a tin', as my dad liked to say.

I weaved between bodies, standing on many toes and having to climb over the back of a sofa to make a leap for the stairs to the girls' dormitories. The stone steps seem to multiply before me as I dragged myself up them, and I was considering stopping to have a rest when the fifth year door finally came into view. I fell onto the heavy wood, my weight not enough to push it open, so I stayed there for a couple of minutes, leaning against it.

My peaceful rest was interrupted, however, when the door I was resting on was flung open. I shrieked as I toppled into the room, landing with a thud on the floor.

"Ginny!" Ruth exclaimed from somewhere above me. I peeled myself off the floor, groaning as my head spun and wondering when someone had doubled the number of beds in the room.

"'M okay," I managed to slur as I pulled myself to my wobbly and dangerously unstable feet.

"Never mind about that!" Ruth said impatiently, and I frowned. Fine then, if my pain isn't important to you. Just know that I am never kissing your paper-cuts better again. "Did you hear about Katie?"

I was definitely awake now. I spun around to face Ruth, her brown locks pulled into a messy bun.

"What? What about Katie?" What had possibly happened to Katie? Although her and I were in different years, we'd bonded on the quidditch team last year, and had been good friends ever since.

"She's in the hospital wing - she's been cursed!"

"What?" I yelped, already half way down the stairs I'd struggled so badly to get up only minutes before.

"She was on her way back from Hogsmeade and she was holding this package that someone had given her in the Three Broomsticks, and she and her friend, Leanne, got in a fight about it and it ripped open and Katie touched it somehow and then she started screaming and had to be rushed to the hospital wing." Ruth said this all in one breath as she followed me down the stairs.

"Is she alright?" I demanded, launching myself over the back of the sofa obstructing the entrance to the common room, earning myself many dirty looks from the third years sitting there that I may have stepped on.

"I don't know – I think so. Snape gave her a potion that stopped her screaming and knocked her out, but she may be transferred to Mungo's."

"How do you know?"

"Harry told me, he was walking behind her when she got cursed."

Harry? I scoured the common room, and lucky for me the Chosen-One-in-question was sitting in the corner, talking with Ron and Hermione. I charged up to him, using my talent to conveniently place my elbows in important body parts to manoeuvre my way over there.

"Harry," I gasped when the crowd spit me out next to him. He looked up at his name, and I was momentarily stunned as usual by the beauty of his perfect, perfect face. "I heard about Katie – is she okay?"

"I hope so," he replied in an anxious voice, sharing a look with the other two. "She looked pretty bad before when we left her at the Hospital Wing."

"What happened?" I asked, my voice no more than a whisper. Harry told me the whole story: how they'd been arguing, the package had tore, Katie had touched it and risen into the air before she'd started screaming. When he was finished, my face was a shocked mask of stone and goosebumps had risen on my skin.

"Poor Katie," I breathed, my lack of appropriate vocabulary forcing me to use the King of all understatements.

The surrounding people merely nodded, their faces as distant and shocked as mine.

"We should go down to dinner," Ron suggested after a pause, and I rolled my eyes at him. Even in a crisis, Ron managed to think of his stomach and the lack of food in it ninety-nine percent of the time. The other one percent he spent thinking about Hermione.

"Sure," Harry agreed, standing up and stretching his arms up above him, making his T-shirt ride up ever so slightly and exposing a flash of skin just above the waist belt of his jeans. I swear I drooled just a little bit.

"We should get to dinner too," Ruth echoed, and I nodded, the image of Harry's partially-exposed stomach still clear in my mind. I closed my eyes, wanting to conserve every part of that image beneath my eyelids, ready for me to devour whenever I wanted to.

"Come on," I said after I'd opened them and Ruth turned to lose herself in the crowd once more.

We'd barely made it ten meters down the corridor when Ruth gasped and cursed loudly.

"Do you kiss your mother with that mouth?" I asked, sending her a quizzical look.

"I've forgotten my Charms homework!" She slapped her forehead in a comical gesture.

"We're going to dinner, Ruth, not Charms," I reminded her. Maybe she'd spent too long in the wind today and it had blown her brains to bits and addled her memory.

"I know, but I didn't hand in my essay, and Flitwick said if I didn't have it by dinner tonight then he would have to give me a detention."

"A detention? When was this homework in for?"

"Sometime in September," Ruth said offhandedly, waving her hand about. "I'll have to go back for it."

"Ruth! It's halfway through October and you have homework from September still?"

"Just wait there!" Ruth was already running off to the portrait hole.

I sighed, looking around the empty corridor surrounding me. I clicked my tongue, listening to it echoing off the stone walls. I rocked backwards and forwards on my heels, humming a little to break the pressing silence around me.

"Do-bee-do-bee-do-wop… shaba-daba-do… do-be-do-do-"

"If music be the food of love, play on –"

I screamed loudly as a second musical voice joined my lame humming, clutching the wall for support.

"Nathanial!" I gasped when I had turned around to see him standing in the middle of the hallway behind me. "Don't do that!"

"Do what?" he asked innocently as I patted my heart a few times to restart it.

"Scare me like that!"

"I am awfully sorry. I wanted to know how your trip to Hogsmeade went."

"Uh," I said, confused by the sincerity in his voice. It looked like he had dropped Elvis and was back onto Shakespeare, though his oily hair was still slicked back in what could only be classified as an Elvis-style-haircut. My dad liked to play very loud Elvis music and kind of moan along to the words about hound dogs, or whatever. "Good?"

"I'm not allowed to go, so I never got to follow you -"

"Wait – you've been following me?" I demanded, my eyes wide. If he'd been following me, it meant that he'd seen me slip over on the way down to Hagrid's last night, and I wasn't known for my gracefulness when slipping. I wasn't known for my gracefulness when doing anything, really.

"Only to lunch and to lessons and in the library and to quidditch practice –"

"So basically everywhere?"

"Not in your common room."

"What house are you in, anyway?" I asked, edging forward to get a peek of his robes. I didn't want to get too close though – I didn't know how far that boy could prance and knowing my luck I wasn't going to take any chances.

"I must leave," he announced suddenly, moving back.

"No!" I blurted out, halting him. He couldn't leave yet because Ruth needed to see him so she would know that he was real! And stalking me! Which meant that I needed to stall, and I could stall about as well as Hermione could fly. "Don't go!"

"Why not?"

"Because… I'll be all alone! Someone might come and hurt me, and then what would you do? You'd completely fail at being my stalker."

"In the past couple of weeks I've been following you, you've only seriously hurt yourself once on the way down to the gamekeeper's hut."

Shit, he had seen that.

"Um…" I said, torn between dancing around like a mad person or grabbing him into a headlock to stop him from leaving. I hitched up my robes, ready to boogy-down on the stone floor when I heard Ruth's voice calling my name, gradually getting closer.

"Wait!" I yelled again, internally screaming at Ruth to get a move on. Nathanial, however, shot me a sly grin and began to walk backwards. I could hear Ruth only a corridor away, a corridor that would take her ten seconds to run.

"Don't go!"

"Parting is such sweet sorrow, that I shall say good night till it be morrow," I heard his ghostly voice chuckle as he disappeared behind a tapestry a second before Ruth skidded round the corner.

"No!" I screamed, flipping the tapestry back to reveal an empty corridor. "No, damn it!"

"What?" Ruth asked, breathless, a piece of parchment clutched in her hand.

"You missed him!"

"Who?" she asked, looking both confused and worried about my sanity.

"Nathanial!"

"Am I supposed to know who that is?"

"My stalker!"

"He was here?"

"Yes!" I stressed, pulling the tapestry back to show her the empty corridor. "He went down there a second before you got here."

"But, it's empty now, Ginny," Ruth told me in a slow voice people often use when talking to three-year olds, idiots, and three-year old idiots.

"I can see that, Ruth!" I exclaimed, dropping the tapestry with a loud huff. "You just missed him!"

"Are you sure -" she started, but then stopped, shaking her head.

"What?"

"Oh never mind, it was nothing," she breezed, walking past me towards the staircase. I glared after her, hurrying to catch up.

"If it was nothing then why can't you tell me?"

"It might hurt your feelings," she replied, and I frowned. I hated it when people did that – said something to you and refused to explain. It was like giving someone a knife, plate and candle but no birthday cake.

"Tell me," I begged, trying and failing to make my face look puppy-dog like.

"Well, it's just…" I widened my eyes a couple of times to urge her on. "Are you sure he's real?"

"Who's real?"

"You know, Nigel, or whatever it is."

"Nathanial?"

"Yeah, him."

"Well?" I pressed as we jumped on a staircase about to swing round to a different corridor. "What about him?"

"Are you sure he's – " She paused, giving me a tentative look. "Are you sure he's real?"

"Uh – pretty sure?" I replied stupidly, not quite sure what she was asking me. Clever, understanding Ginny seemed to have gone on holiday and taken sane Ginny with her. They'd been gone a while, actually. A long while.

"I mean, are you sure you aren't just, well, seeing things?"

I stared at her dumbly, not believing what she was suggesting.

"You think I'm hallucinating?"

"I think you're stressed," she replied carefully.

"Stressed people don't hallucinate! You think I've gone mad!" I accused, pointing a literal finger at her. She shrugged, a light blush colouring her cheeks.

"I don't think you've gone mad. But, think about it – no one else has seen this Nathanial you're going on about except you, and don't try to deny it because I've asked around. You don't know what house he's in, what year he's in, what his second name is. He prances and pops up at times when you're all alone and seems to know an awful lot of Shakespeare for a teenage boy."

"So he's interested in Shakespeare!" I cried wildly as I tumbled down the marble staircase behind Ruth.

"I just think you should go see someone about it."

"What, like a shrink?" I stopped dead on the stairs, Ruth carrying on so she was almost at the bottom before she turned and said, loud enough for me to hear,

"No, like McGonagall. She can help you." The way Ruth said it suggested that I needed help, and not the kind of help given to people with stalkers. She thought I needed the kind of help given to people who made up their own stalkers.

"I'm not mad!" I yelled after her back as it retreated into the Great Hall, yet no matter how loud I yelled and how angry I got, a part inside of me would not stop protesting that actually, Ruth was probably right.

* * *

A/N: So I was reading back over past chapters the other day, and I realised that I'd made some really stupid grammar and spelling mistakes, so I may go and fix those. I know this chapter skipped forward like three weeks, but that may be happening a lot more often so I can write about the important stuff and have less 'filler' chapters :)

- SprayPaintedShoes


	13. Chapter 13: Earlobe Obsession

**A/N: This chapter seemed a lot longer than it actually is, because it took me so long to write. It is a pretty important part in the book though, and I can only hope that I did it justice. I'm sorry if I disappointed some of you, and I'd appreciate any feedback telling me what you thought/how I could improve for future chapters :)**

**_Disclaimer: I'm sure you've got the gist by now but just for kicks, I'm going to tell you again. I don't own Harry Potter. Never have and never will._**

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CHAPTER 13 - Earlobe Obsession

"You're going to Slughorn's Christmas party, aren't you Ginny?"

"Hm?" I replied distractedly, busy trying to restrain an angry Venomous Tentacula with a strange attraction to my left earlobe. Our mission for the lesson, if it could be called that, was, in Professor Sprout's words, to simply 'survive one hour in the same room as the devils'. Turns out it wasn't so simple after all.

"Slughorn's Christmas Party. Aren't you part of the Slug Club?"

"If people are going to refer to it as that, I'd rather not be a part of it thanks." I grimaced, images of fat, slimy slugs wearing neckties filling my head. Our group, consisting of Ruth, Emily, Rose and me, were all crowded round one bench in the stifling hot glass room that smelt of moss and feet and was commonly known as 'Greenhouse Three'.

The other three were lounging gracefully on the edge of the bench, Emily filling her nails and Ruth finishing her Charms homework. I, however, had my sleeves rolled up to my elbows and was, shall we say, 'strongly disagreeing' with a particularly nasty Venomous Tentacula.

"Sure, the name's pretty strange, but it's a good club to be in," Emily mused while Ruth nodded in agreement. As I turned to tell them that actually, I found the meetings as boring as Percy's lectures on the correct way to pair socks, a sneaky vine grabbed my ponytail from behind and yanked hard. I swore loudly, and Sprout gave me a weary look that obviously meant she was already regretting allowing us to curse loudly when the beasts caught us by surprise.

"Watch out, Ginny," Ruth told me, sparing me a glance before returning to her homework.

"Thanks, Ruth," I snapped back, Sarcastic Ginny pushing Polite Ginny right out of the way.

"You're welcome." Obviously Intellectual Ruth was on holiday today.

"Right, well, you can pack away now," Sprout announced suddenly after a loud curse split through the greenhouse. There was a collective sigh as everyone hurried to shoulder their bags, and I once again unwound a root from around my earlobe and hurried after my retreating friends.

"So, who're you taking to Slughorn's?" Emily pressed as we slid down the damp grassy passage towards the castle. Our shoes made obnoxious squeaking noises, and once or twice I had to grab Ruth's shoulder to steady myself.

"Uh, Dean, I suppose."

"Who else would she take?" Rose asked, and I saw Ruth smirk. I had a pretty good idea who she was thinking of. Black hair, green eyes, irresistible dimples...

Emily shrugged. The lunch hall was buzzing, and we weaved our way to an empty spot on the Gryffindor table. I nudged along a third-year who was taking up way too much room, and settled myself on a bench.

I was just reaching for a tuna sandwich that had my name on it, metaphorically speaking of course, because the house elves weren't _that_ good, when Dean plopped down next to me, his face split into a grin that showed all of his sparkly teeth. One thing I'd always noticed but never registered was that Dean had really white teeth.

"Guess what?"

"Seamus has been offered a job as Minister for Magic."

The look he gave me told me three things: one, no, Seamus was not going to be given ultimate power over the wizarding world and yes, we were safe for the moment. Two, he thought I was awfully strange and three, he was either still extremely excited, or he needed to go to the bathroom really bad. I shuffled slightly to the left, just in case.

"You asked me to guess, so I guessed," I pointed out simply, munching on my tuna sandwich.

"Remind me never to ask you to guess again." I tapped my head to mimic putting the thought away in my big and rather dysfunctional memory bank, that, to be honest, was much more like a sieve than a bank.

"Do you want to hear my news now?"

"Does it involve Seamus and firewhiskey?"

"No."

"Does it involve Seamus at all?"

"No." His eyebrows were raised, and I think he was seriously questioning my sanity. On the other hand, he could've just really, really needed the toilet.

"Then shoot."

He slung one leg over the bench so he was sitting sideways, facing me. He grinned again. "Guess who's Gryffindor's newest Chaser?"

"I thought you didn't want me to guess." He rolled his eyes at my pointed response.

"Yeah, but this one should be pretty easy." He jabbed his eyebrows up twice and his fingers curled towards himself. Realising who his less than subtle hint was pointing to and using quick Weasley brain power to process this new information, I took a stab at prolonging the inevitable.

"I'm guessing it's not Seamus?"

"Oh, come on, Ginny," he said, "It's me!"

Procrastination has never been my strong point.

"Wow," I said feebly, trying and failing to look enthusiastic, though I think Dean's joy shielded him from any negative feelings radiating off myself. "That's, uh, great." And by 'uh, great' I meant the opposite.

"Yeah, Harry just asked me then – he doesn't think Katie's going to be back in time for the match."

I made a strange noise that I hoped sounded moderately happy, supportive and normal.

"So I'll see you at practice tonight?" He asked, grabbing a tuna sandwich off the plate in front of him as he stood up.

Another funny gurgling noise.

"Great," he replied, whether to my strange new language or to the sandwich I didn't know. He placed a quick peck on my cheek as he said, "see you!" and ran off. When I saw him leave the hall, I grumbled moodily and began to pull apart my not-so-great-any-more sandwich.

"Bummer," Ruth said, sliding herself along the bench to me.

"You can say that again."

"Bummer."

I gave Ruth a flat look, which she returned with such seriousness that I had to giggle just a little bit.

"Quidditch practice is one of the only times I get to talk to Harry while Dean isn't there. How am I supposed to make friends with Harry now?"

"Well, it's only temporary," Ruth offered, avoiding my question and smiling comfortably. "And hey, you might even have fun."

My reply was interrupted by Jayson sitting down on Ruth's other side. His dark hair was slightly windswept, and by the look of his bleeding finger I guessed I wasn't the only one the Venomous Tentacula had a weird fetish towards.

"Hey," he greeted us, smiling brightly. "What's up?"

"Not much," I replied, feeling slightly strange while doing so, like I was talking when I shouldn't be. It was only when Jayson reached for an ever popular tuna sandwich that I noted the absence of a usually constantly twittering voice.

I looked over at Ruth, who was looking at Jayson, who was eating a sandwich.

Ruth hadn't said anything in the last eight seconds. Nothing at all. My mind went into panic mode. What was wrong? Was she upset? Had she gone mute? Had the tuna sandwich destroyed her voice box? I dropped my sandwich onto my plate and grabbed my throat, gasping as the Ruth-less silence seemed to press in on my ears.

Ruth heard my gasp and turned to me, a look of confusion on her face.

"What?" She asked. Oh, false alarm.

"Nothing," I said, pushing my plate away just in case the sandwich had gotten any ideas. "You just seem a little quiet today."

"Oh?"

"Mhm. Everything alright?"

"Sure," she replied distractedly, a reply that I didn't believe for one second, thank you very much. I may look stupid but I'm not totally obtuse. So, instead of pressing her for more details, I sat back to observe.

Ruth observing was only very fun when Ruth was being her usual, quirky self. Right now, she was staring at her sandwich (tuna, of course), her brows slightly furrowed. What had brought on this bout of strange, un-Ruth behaviour was unknown to me, but I did notice that she kept glancing sideways. Was she glancing at Jayson's plate? Did she want Jayson's sandwich?

"Those Venomous Tentacula were little buggers, weren't they?" Jayson asked, and this time Ruth did reply, and rather too quickly if you asked me, though no one was around to.

"Yeah, horrible," she said, and I stared at her in muted shock. I don't think she'd even _touched_ one of the scaly green plants, let alone experienced the horror of one take an unhealthy liking to your earlobe.

"Sprout sounded relieved when she said we could go, huh? I think she'll be leaving them lessons out in future."

Ruth didn't reply with one of her famous witty comebacks, she didn't even say anything. She just giggled. And by giggle, I mean a 'is this super giggle good enough for my Vane-bot audition?' giggle. My face split into a look of pure disbelief.

For starters, Ruth didn't giggle like that. She chuckled and she chortled and, hell, I've even known her to guffaw, but Ruth didn't giggle. Second, she still hadn't thought up of a comeback, but was just listening to Jayson talk with a small smile on her face, looking like she was drinking up every single word like they were the most important thing to her. Come to think of it, I'd seen that look before. She'd been doing it the last couple of weeks when she'd been talking to Jayson, but I'd never really picked up on it.

Plus, her eyelashes were kind of fluttering, and since when did Ruth twist her hair round her finger? And how come she was giving him a look Ruth had described to me only a month previously as being "_The Look"_, with capitalised letters and inverted commas and everything, and if the Holyhead Harpies scores three goals against Puddlemere United, then that would make the score –

Oh. My. God.

Ginny Weasley, you are _so _obtuse.

Ruth, plus giggling, plus _The Look_, plus Jayson equals – Ruth liked Jayson! Like, liked liked Jayson. Like, more than a friend! My sudden incoherency that came with my ingenious epiphany meant that I was rendered speechless for a good period of time, only finding my voice when Jayson stood up and left and Ruth turned to me.

"Shall we- Ginny? Are you okay? Your face is kind of red, and-"

"Well steal my wand and call me Filch, how did I miss this?" I gasped over her, ignoring her when she began to stutter again.

"Uh, Ginny? Are you sure you're-"

"You!" I said, pointing to her, my words still not ordered enough to squeeze themselves out of my mouth. Ruth's eyes were wide and she looked helplessly around the hall. "And – and Jayson!"

Her eyes sharpened at his name, and this forced the words out of my mouth.

"You like Jayson!"

"Wh-what?"

"You fancy Jayson!"

She blinked stupidly at me for a couple of seconds, and then began to shake her head vigorously. "No I don't."

"Yes, you do."

"I do not."

"Do too."

"Do not."

"Do too."

"Ginny!" Ruth's outburst snapped me out of our childish banter, and I blinked stupidly at her. "I don't like Jayson any more than as a friend."

"But you were flirting with him!"

"How can I be flirting with him when I don't even know-"

"That you are?" I interrupted a smug, Hermione-ish smile on my face. "You were just being friendly and laughing at his jokes and chatting to him and stuff?" Ruth bit her lip, and I had to resist the urge to punch the air with my fist, at the risk of causing a scene. "Does that sound familiar to you?"

"Erm-"

"Hey, isn't that what you said I was doing with Dean last year? And if I remember correctly-" I paused, tapping a complacent finger on my chin, probably overdoing it slightly, but the moments when I actually won an argument against Ruth were scarce, so can you blame me for wanting to savour the moment? "Yep, that's right. Last time I checked, Dean was my boyfriend, so – what does that mean about you and Jayson?"

"I don't like Jayson," Ruth stated as she got up, her teeth gritted. I followed after her, a smirk on my face as I sang,

"Denial's a terrible thing, Ruth."

"I'm not in denial."

"That's what they all say."

* * *

"For Merlin's sake, Ron," I screamed at him from the other end of the pitch, though by the scowl on his face I was guessing he'd heard me. "Are you as stupid as you look?"

He pointedly ignored me, instead choosing to let the quaffle soar through his outstretched fingers into the tallest golden hoop for the fourth time that night. Dean swooped down to get it, and we formed up in the middle of the pitch again. Dean tossed the quaffle up, I dived forward to catch it, and after a few quick passes between Demelza and I, I was facing Ron again. I pulled back my hand and snapped it forward. Ron did a manoeuvre that resembled a drunken ape trying to swat a fly away from its head while falling out of a tree and trying to stay on a broomstick. With sound effects.

Not surprisingly, the quaffle shot through the lowest hoop, the famous 'ding!' signalling that another goal had been scored. I dipped to snag the quaffle before it fell to the ground, and then flew over to the ape in a quidditch uniform.

"See this ball, Ron?" I asked in a loud voice, holding the quaffle up in front of his face. He glared at me and made no indication that he could see the quaffle, which, given his Keeping skills that night, I wouldn't have been surprised at.

"This big, red circular thing that kind of looks like your head?" I could hear Dean sniggering behind me, which just made El Crappo glare more. "It's called a _quaffle_. You are a _Keeper_. You meant to _stop_ the ball going through the hoops, not dance around in front of it like a lunatic!"

"I know what I'm supposed to be doing, Ginny," Ron spat, snatching the quaffle from my hands and tucking it under his arm protectively.

"Then why aren't you doing it?"

"Come on, Ginny, we're going to try that again," Harry's calm and falsely cheery voice came from behind me. I pivoted round, catching the weary look on Harry's face. I knew, without having to do all the weird crystal-ball crap, that Harry was thinking the exact same thing as I was: this was going to be a _long_ night.

Over the next couple of minutes, the weather grew windier, my cheeks grew redder and Ron's technique grew worse. Hard to believe but yes, it was possible.

After a particularly extravagant display of feet kicking and arm waving, Ron managed to mistake Demelza's face for the quaffle and send his fist smashing into it. I swore loudly and landed next to Demelza on the ground, where she was cradling her mouth, blood streaming through her fingers.

"I'm sorry, Demelza, really sorry!" Ron apologized in a pathetic voice as I winced at Demelza's very swollen lip. "I just –"

"Panicked," I finished for him, searching around desperately for something that would subdue the blood pouring from her lip. I considered summoning a tissue before I remembered the last time I'd tried to do that, and ended up with a hand full of tacos. So instead, I pressed the sleeve of my quidditch robes to her mouth. "You prat, Ron, look at the state of her!"

Ron added a fish to the endless list of animal impressions he had done tonight as he opened and closed his mouth wordlessly.

"I can fix that," Harry said from beside me, his arm brushing against my side as he fished inside his robes for his wand. I trembled, electricity sparking through my whole body. Harry mumbled a spell and Demelza's lip healed itself. "And Ginny –" I trembled again as my name fell from his lips, "don't call Ron a prat, you're not the captain of this team –"

"Well, you seemed too busy to call him a prat and I thought someone should," I intoned with my unfaultable logic, my cheeks flushing as the corners of Harry's mouth upturned. I was so busy dreaming up other things that mouth could be doing, most involving my own mouth, that I didn't hear Harry call everyone back up into the air.

"Are you coming, Ginny?" Dean asked, and I hopped on my broom quickly, glad that the light had dimmed enough to hide my flaming cheeks.

The rest of the quidditch practice passed pretty uneventfully. Ron seemed too downhearted to actually attempt anymore saves, and just stuck out a pathetic hand when anyone came his way.

I put a little too much power behind one of my passes to Demelza and felt a sharp pain between my thumb and my finger. I swore loudly, examining the bite I'd received from the Venomous Tentacula this morning that had reopened, and was now oozing beads of blood. Was it just me, or did this quidditch practice contain more blood than most?

"Have you cut yourself?" Harry flew over to me, taking my hand in his to examine the wound. My whole hand tingled with such ferocity that I was surprised he couldn't feel it buzzing.

"No, I did that this morning. Blame the Venomous Tentacula."

"You were doing those in Herbology?" He asked, and his wince told me that he too was recalling gruesome memories.

"Yep."

"You're allowed to swear you know, if one grabs you from behind," he told me, still examining my cut, which was easing up a bit now.

"Not any more you aren't," I muttered, but still loud enough for him to hear. He raised his eyebrows, and I shook my head in a 'you _really_ don't want to know' sort of way. He nodded, and then gave a long sigh.

"I think that's enough for tonight," he announced to the whole team, who flew over when they heard his 'serious captain' voice. Everyone retired to the safety of the changing rooms, grabbing their possessions on the way.

"Good work, everyone, I think we'll flatten Slytherin," Harry said over the scuffle, a plain example of someone who was lying through their teeth. The only way we'd flatten Slytherin was if they changed the match from quidditch to 'see which Keeper can injure the most players in ten minutes'. I followed the rest of the team outside, letting the door swing closed on Ron and Harry.

"Well that went well," Dean said brightly as we trudged up to the castle. I turned to raise my eyebrows at him, and to suggest a trip to Pomfrey before I realised that it had been his first practice, and he was referring to himself.

"Yeah," I said as he slung his arm around my shoulder. "You played pretty well."

"You reckon we'll beat Slytherin?"

"Only if Ron learns how to play quidditch by the match," I grumbled, rubbing my eyes with the hand that wasn't enclosed in Dean's.

"Give the guy a break, Ginny," Dean told me, smiling softly. "He was just nervous."

"And deadly! Did you see Demelza's lip?"

"He'll be fine for the match."

"Are you actually defending my brother?" I asked, astounded. We ducked under a tapestry that led to a familiar short cut, and Dean's walk slowed to a meander.

"Well, I kind of owe your brother," he said slowly, a smile spreading onto his face. I raised my eyebrows.

"For what? Permanently stinking up your dormitory and taking all of the nice potatoes at lunch?" Dean rolled his eyes at me and smirked, his lazy meander slowing even more so we were stood still in the middle of a deserted corridor.

"He's been really cool about me and you being together, and hasn't said anything to me about it –"

"That's because it's not his decision who I go out with –"

"Even so," he said over me, clasping both of my hands in his bigger ones. He raised one of our intertwined hands and used the back of my palm to brush the stray hair that had fallen from my ponytail out of my face. By the half smile on his face, I could already tell what was on his mind. Built-in kiss-dar, I've got. "Even so, you are his little sister, and he is one of my friends."

"I would prefer not to be called 'little' thank you very much," I murmured as he linked my hands behind his neck and his face dipped to meet mine. He whispered into my ear a couple of things that he _would_ call me, things that Ron definitely wouldn't be too happy about, before his lips pressed themselves to mine.

I kissed him, just like I normally did, but for some reason my mind was on other things, rather than the position of my boyfriend's hands. My thoughts were scattered – what if someone came down the corridor? What if we got caught by Filch? Did I still have a charms essay to do? Would Ruth wonder where I was? What time was it? Did I have clean socks for the next day? Did Harry hate me for yelling at his best friend?

Oh no. I was kissing my boyfriend and thinking of another man. I was a lowlife, two-timing slut! Who thought of other people while they were kissing the person they were meant to love? Who doubted whether they loved the person they were meant to love? Who doubted whether they loved the person they were meant to love whilst kissing said person in a deserted corridor that Filch could mooch down at any second? I wonder if seeing Dean and I kiss would give Filch his kicks...

I was so distracted by sick and unpleasant thoughts of what made Filch tick that a loud 'oi!' from behind me made me start and ask, rather stupidly, "what?"

When I'd pulled away from Dean enough to turn my head and see who had interrupted us, it was not Filch, as I had thought. It was someone a lot worse.

Oh no. Oh no, no, no, no, no. It was like one of those dreams in which you are playing a quidditch match when you realise that you're playing against hippogriffs and you have no broom. And you're naked.

When I saw the expressions on the two intruders' faces, my hopes that it was one of those quidditch-match-against-hippogriffs-with-no-broomstick-or-clothes dreams increased until I was begging to Merlin and whoever else was up there to make me wake up, but alas, no such luck.

When I opened my eyes, Ron and Harry were still standing there, both looking livid.

"I don't want to find my own sister snogging people in public!" Ron cried, outraged. I found myself glaring back at him, whether because of his use of the word 'snogging' or the fact that Ron seemed to think the empty corridor was teeming with students, and that I was slutty enough to make out with my boyfriend in a place full of people.

"This was a deserted corridor till you came butting in!" I pointed out to him. I chanced a glance at Harry, who was glaring at Dean, but looked away before he could turn his glare on me. The realisation that he obviously thought I was a slut now as well crashed over me like a bucket of ice water, chilling me to the bone, and at that moment, I hated Ron for interrupting Dean and I, for embarrassing me in front of a guy who I'd liked since I was ten and making me look no better than the likes of Romilda Vane.

"Er... c'mon, Ginny, let's go back to the common room," muttered Dean into my ear, but I shook him off. I wanted to go, but my feet wouldn't let me leave. I couldn't leave knowing that Ron had made a fool of me, and made Harry hate me, without challenging him.

"You go!" I told him. "I want a word with my dear brother!" A word involving my fist and his face.

"Right, let's get this straight once and for all," I said, tossing a piece of hair out of my eyes and trying to sound professional, like I knew what I was doing and to disguise the fact that my voice was wobbling and my hands were shaking. "It is none of your business who I go out with or what I do with them, Ron –"

"Yeah it is! D'you think I want people says my sister's a s-"

I knew what he was going to say without having to ask again. My worst fears were confirmed. Everyone, including Harry, thought I was a slut.

"He doesn't mean anything, Ginny," Harry tried as I pressed my wand into Ron's chest, planning on hexing his skinny little ass back to first-year.

"Oh yes he does!" I objected, finally meeting Harry's stare. I could see the anger clouding his emerald eyes, piercing me right through and making my own eyes burn. "Just because he's never snogged anyone in his life, just because the best kiss _he's _ever had is from our Aunt Muriel!" I didn't even know why the hell I was bringing Muriel up, I was just so angry. Despite what people might think, I'm not made of metal and hearing that people thought that I was a slut was painful. I'd had two boyfriends, for Merlin's sake!

"Shut your mouth!" Ron roared, turning an odd shade of maroon. The sound echoed off the walls and pressed on my ears, smashing any logic thoughts remaining in my head. All of it; the embarrassment, the yelling, the names – it got to me. I snapped. I didn't even know what I was saying anymore. I was yelling about Phlegm and a bunch of other things that didn't make sense. Harry stepped between us, and I tried pathetically to push him out of the way, my hand hurting as it clenched tighter around my wand. My eyes stung with unshed tears that hadn't fallen since I was eleven and my vision blurred to grey.

"Harry's snogged Cho Chang!" I screamed, blinking furiously against both the tears and the image of Harry and Cho in my mind. Harry probably thought I was as bad as Cho; kissing everything with a pulse. "And Hermione snogged Viktor Krum!" I didn't even know if that was true, I was just saying whatever came into my head. "It's only you who acts like it's something disgusting, Ron, and that's because you've got about as much experience as a twelve-year-old!"

I turned and stormed away, breaking into a run when I had turned the corner. My footsteps echoed off the cold stone walls, mixed with an odd strangling sound that I realised after a while was the sound of my sobs. I stopped running when my eyes were too blurred to tell where I was. I didn't care where I was. I dropped to the floor, sliding against the wall and curling up into a ball, tears spilling out of my eyes and over my cheeks.

I hugged my knees, sobs wracking through my body and out of my chattering teeth. And the thing was, I wasn't crying because Harry hated me and, along with the rest of the school, thought I was a dirty slut. I was crying because I had just had the worst argument I'd had with Ron since I was eight and he'd snapped my toy broomstick because I'd accidentally turned his hair purple. I was crying because my brother hated me, and I didn't blame him. The things I said came flooding back to me, and I realised just how horrible some of them were. What should I care if Ron hadn't had his first kiss? He was too good for any of the girls in the school anyway, with the exception of Hermione, but tonight had been incidental enough without trying to sort that out as well.

I let my head fall against the stone, the tears drying against my cheeks as a lonesome few followed their tracks down my face. I was a horrible sister and a horrible girlfriend. I was a horrible person. A horrible, horrible person.

I must've sat there for at least half an hour, my mind going over the fight and my body regretting every second of it, before I heard footsteps echoing towards me, and the muffled thud as someone sat down next to me. A small arm went around my waist, and I leaned into the person, a fresh wave of tears overtaking me. I don't know how or when I realised that it was Ruth hugging me. She didn't say anything, didn't try to move me, just let me saturate her hair with tears as we sat, leaning against the wall in the deserted corridor. My sobs faded to hiccups and I began to shiver. Ruth stood up, holding out her hand to help me up, and not letting go of it as we started to make our way back to the common room.

As we wound our way through darkened corridors, I turned to look at Ruth and thanked Merlin that I was a horrible, horrible person with a wonderful, wonderful best friend.

* * *

**A/N: Yes, I know, a bit of best friend fluff to follow a bit of brotherly angst :) You have no idea how hard it was to write that argument scene. Trust me, it was_ very_ hard. **

**And for those of you who are wondering 'who the Hell is Jayson?', I mentioned him briefly in a previous chapter as a person who hung around with Romilda Vane. I can't remember what year he was supposed to be in, but lets just say he's in Ginny's year :)**

**As usual, reviews make the world go round and my fingers type :) And they're much appreciated :) And Happy Easter to those of you celebrating it :)**

**- SprayPaintedShoes**


	14. Chapter 14: Playing Cupid

**A/N: It's ridiculous how busy I've been over these last couple of weeks - I had my French oral last week and I've got an art exam coming up... but I go on exam leave this week so I should have a lot more free time in which to write :)**

**Disclaimer: You know the drill (Y)**

* * *

CHAPTER 14 - Playing Cupid

"Maybe if you tried actually AIMING the Quaffle for the hoops then I'd bother to catch it!" I heard Ron roar from the other end of the pitch. I swore under my breath and turned around – I'd been busy admiring Harry's sculpted chest through his Quidditch shirt as he scoured the pitch for the snitch, but now that he was distracted my highly enjoyable activities had been disrupted.

"Maybe if you tried CATCHING the Quaffle then I'd bother to aim it!" Demelza screamed back at him, tossing her long dark hair out of her eyes. I began to fly over, seeing angry tears sprout in Demelza's eyes.

"Don't blame me because you're a lousy quidditch player!"

Demelza screamed with derisive laughter and I slapped my forehead with my hand. Ron was suchan idiot – pissing off a girl like Demelza, who I'd seen stronger men than Ron cower from before, was not a good idea. "That's rich coming from you! Have you ever even caught a Quaffle before?"

"If you actually threw it in the direction of the hoops like any decent Chaser would then I might get the chance to!"

"Oi, Demelza's better than decent," Dean yelled angrily, grasping the Quaffle between his fingers. I knew if someone didn't intervene soon, it'd be Ron's head people would be aiming for.

"You shut up and leave her alone," Peakes added, shaking his bat in Ron's direction. I saw more furious tears leak down Demelza's face and glared at Ron, wishing that my wand was in a more accessible area that didn't require me getting off my broom to fetch it.

"ENOUGH!" Harry bellowed, flying over to stop the fight that was seconds away from happening. He sorted the fiasco out in minutes like the calm, level-headed captain that he was, and before long everyone was crowded in the changing room discussing the match , with the exception of Harry and Idiot No. 1, who were outside having a 'serious talk'.

"I reckon we've got a chance," Ritchie Coote said, swinging his bat. "We've got a pretty good team this year."

"With the exception of Ron," I pointed out.

"Ron's good," Dean levelled as he swapped his boots for a pair of trainers. "Do you remember the game last year when he won the cup for us? He is good, he just has some..."

"Confidence issues," Demelza supplied, and I was surprised that she was actually being reasonable after he'd yelled at her like he had.

"And anger issues," Jimmy added, and I whole-heartedly agreed.

* * *

The Great Hall was buzzing by the time Ruth and I entered it on Saturday morning. I looked up instinctively, smiling when I saw a pale, blue sky that was just screaming good Quidditch conditions.

I sat down next to Dean, who was staring at his bacon, apparently lost in thought.

"Hey," I said, placing a kiss on his cheek to try and snap him out of his obvious discomfort. "I think that bacon's getting a bit uneasy. I'd eat it before it can sue you for sexual harassment."

Ruth snorted from the other side of me, but Dean just looked up dazedly and said, "What?"

I remembered feeling that way on the morning of my first Quidditch match, even though today was only my second, and the butterflies in my stomach where still fluttering just as madly.

"You should each something," I advised him, and he rubbed his eyes and shook his head.

"I'm not hungry."

"You can't play Quidditch on an empty stomach."

"I won't be able to play it on a full stomach without puking all over the pitch either," he replied rather snappily and I shuffled slightly to the side just in case he'd already had some food that was waiting to make a reappearance. I ate my porridge in silence, trying to subdue the anxious feeling inside of me and feeling oddly restless.

"Hey," I heard a voice say, and a second later Jayson sat down on the other side of Ruth, sporting a red jumper.

"Hi," I replied, my hand shooting out to steady the glass of pumpkin juice Ruth had knocked over in her haste to greet him back. I rolled my eyes as juice slopped over my hand.

"Looks like a good day for Quidditch," Jayson commented, looking at the ceiling.

"Yeah, I was just telling Ginny," Ruth told him with a nod, and I felt my eyebrows raise and a smirk appear on my face.

"Do you play Quidditch?"

"No, I just watch," she said nonchalantly, waving an airy hand and nearly upturning a pitcher of milk. After ten more minutes, in which Ruth knocked over several more glasses and I managed to get Dean to eat a piece of toast, I stood up.

"Are you coming, Dean?"

"Uh, yeah, I just need to run upstairs and get my Quidditch boots – I left them up there," he said nervously, jumping up and leaving the Great Hall. I frowned after him and then turned to Demelza,

"Are you coming?"

"Sure," she said, her voice also shaking with anxiety. I said goodbye to Ruth, who gave me a crushing good luck hug that may have injured several of my ribs, and waved to Luna, who was wishing me luck in a very loud voice from the Ravenclaw table, her famous lion hat roaring along with her. Demelza and I crunched our way down to the pitch, only to find the Slytherin team already assembled outside when we got there.

"Why is there one missing?" I asked Demelza as we approached them.

"They're only playing with six players; I heard that Vaisey, their chaser, got hit in the head by a Bludger yesterday and he's too sore to play." I smiled, feeling my luck increase, only to have the smile wiped off my face when we got close enough to the Slytherins for them to notice us.

"Oi, Weaslette, how did you manage to get on the team? Surely you couldn't afford to bribe your way in. Or did you have to pay Potter some other way?" It was one of the Chasers, Morgan, who spoke, and he gave me a suggestive wink that made me want to puke, but instead I replied back coolly,

"No, you see, unlike the Slytherin team, Gryffindor picks its players on talent, not on how much money they have. I can't imagine how much you must've had to fork out for them to let you play." That wiped the smirk on their faces. "Oi, Harper, why are you playing?" I yelled, noticing a face among them that wasn't meant to be there.

"Malfoy's ill," he grunted, looking and sounding remarkably like a pig.

"He's not playing?" I asked, an exuberant smile spreading onto my face again. Excellent weather and no Malfoy... this was turning out to be a very lucky Saturday indeed. I followed Demelza into our changing room without even waiting for an answer, and we changed into our Quidditch robes, both marvelling at our good fortune. Harry and Ron walked in, and completely ignoring the latter (like I had been doing for the past couple of days) I hurried to share the good news with Harry, who was looking adorably nervous.

"Conditions look ideal," I noted, loving the way his glasses slipped down his nose when he nodded. "And guess what?" I was too excited to wait for him to guess, so I just steamrolled right on. "That Slytherin Chaser Vaisey – he took a Bludger to the head yesterday during their practice, and he's too sore to play! And even better than that – Malfoy's gone off sick too!"

"What?" Harry demanded, staring at me in a way that made me feel all hot and flustered, but not in a bad way. "He's ill? What's wrong with him?"

Like I gave a rat's arse, I was just glad that his pain meant that we were at an advantage.

"No idea, but it's great for us. They're playing Harper instead; he's in my year and he's an idiot." I'd once seen him try and eat soup with a fork for ten minutes before he realised that he'd picked up the wrong piece of cutlery. Harry smiled and began to pull on his Quidditch robes, and I felt my head tilt to the side as I watched his muscles strain as he pulled his jumped over his head, making his T-Shirt ride up ever so slightly...

"Ginny?" Demelza snapped me out of my pleasant musings, and I realised that the rest of the team had joined us in the changing room. Dean looked a little green, and I considered getting him a bucket just in case. "We're going out now."

"Oh, right," I said, the butterflies in my stomach picking that moment to go crazy and make me feel nauseous. The way I was going, I might need that bucket. I got in line behind Demelza, and as we walked out onto the pitch the deafening roar of applause and jeers from the sea of red and gold and green and silver hit us.

I missed the hand-shake, but heard Hooch say, 'mount your brooms' and hurried to swing my leg over mine. I tensed up as she counted down, the numbers seeming to take an age to reach one. I saw her cheeks puff out against her whistle, and as soon as I heard the loud shriek I kicked off with a vengeance, and was soaring through the air a second later.

Madam Hooch released the balls and I ducked to grasp the Quaffle as it shot out of the crate. Morgan, the smart-mouthed Chaser also grasped for it, but my fingers rounded on it first and I flew through his outstretched arms, turning to stick my tongue out at him childishly. I saw him scowl and laughed aloud, already enjoying myself. I threw it to Demelza, who passed it to Dean, who fumbled and dropped it. I saw his disheartened face as it fell into the hands of Morgan, so I gave him an encouraging smile as I flew past.

The Quaffle had been given to Urquhart, who was zooming towards a nervous looking Ron. I crossed my fingers as he pulled back to throw it, hoping to Merlin that Ron would acquire some last-minute Quidditch talent. My prayers were answered when Ron caught the Quaffle by the tips of his fingers and threw it to Demelza, the look on his face telling me that I wasn't the only one that was shocked.

"Weasley saves it, well, he's bound to get lucky sometimes, I suppose..." I heard a horribly familiar voice sneer, and looked up to see the butt-ugly face of Zacharias Smith poking over the commentator's box.

Demelza threw the Quaffle to Dean, who caught it this time and threw it to me. I tucked it under my arm as I set off toward the Slytherin end of the pitch, passing it quickly to Demelza when Morgan blocked my way, who sent it straight back at me when I was clear.

"I've never known Ginny Weasley to have any Quidditch talent at all, but then I suppose if you're friendly enough with the captain..."

I scowled, and showed Smith just how much talent I did have by chucking the Quaffle through the hoop, enjoying the glorious 'ping!' and the sound of Smith's disgruntled voice announcing that it was ten zero to Gryffindor. I did a mental victory dance that would have been too hard to do on a moving broomstick and then soared over to Urquhart to intercept Morgan's pass.

The next half an hour of the game passed smoothly – Demelza and Dean scored a goal a piece while I scored another three. I laughed when Coote hit a well-aimed Bludger right at Harper's head, leaving him momentarily dazed. I caught a bad pass from Morgan and chucked it at Dean, turning in time to see Harper fly head first into Harry, who had to grab onto the hand of his broom to stop himself from falling off.

"Foul!" I roared, though Hooch's back was turned. I saw a glint of gold in the sky and Harper zoomed upwards towards it, though Harry barely moved. What was he doing? Had he not seen the Snitch? Was he blind?

"Harry!" I yelled, though he couldn't hear me. "The Snitch!" I was considering catching it for him when Smith actually did something beneficial for once and announced that Harper had in fact, seen the Snitch, which made Harry start and accelerate with such speed that he went blurry for a second.

Harry was lagging behind, then he was catching up, then they were neck and neck... Harry said something which made Harper falter, idiot he was, and Harry was zooming past him... Harry's hand closed and I could see the glint of gold between his fingers as he raised a victorious arm and then I was screaming, along with the rest of the Gryffindor supporters.

"Gryffindor wins," Smith said so unenthusiastically he could have been announcing his marriage to Dobby. I turned and scowled at him. "Potter caught the Snitch; though I'm sure Harper touched it first. Maybe there should be a rematch, just in case?"

The team all rushed forward to hug Harry, but I bypassed them at the last minute, instead aiming my broom right for Smith's squished face. I crashed into the commentator's box, sending it toppling on top of Smith with a glorious crunch. As I picked myself and my broom, both miraculously unharmed, from the wreckage, I heard Smith groan drunkenly and start to stir, clutching his side where my broom had poked him rather painfully.

"Miss Weasley, what an earth...?" McGonagall started, but I cut across her, trying very hard to keep the smile off my face.

"Forgot to brake, Professor, sorry..." I said, and when she turned to pick up the pieces of commentator's box that had survived I turned and smirked at a scowling Smith before hopping back onto my broom and flying back to the rest of my team.

Harry came towards me, laughing, and for the briefest moment that felt like an eternity, Harry's arms wrapped around me and I was crushed to his chest in a hug. For a split second, my body froze – and then it was on fire. Every nerve ending was screaming at me to hug him back, my skin was tingling so much I felt like I was vibrating and my heart was beating with such ferocity that I was being jerked all over the place. And all because Harry was hugging me. Harry couldn't hate me, because last time I checked, people didn't hug people that they hated! Unless of course they were putting a 'kick me' sign on said person's back, but Harry wouldn't do that.

Harry pulled away so quickly that I thought maybe he'd felt my skin tingling, but I couldn't dwell on the thought for much longer as I was pulled into a group hug by the rest of the team, and we all left the pitch, cheering and whooping to another roar of applause.

"Party up in the common room, Seamus said!" Dean yelled when we were back in the changing room. "C'mon, Ginny, Demelza!" He grabbed my hand and hurried out of the changing room and I stumbled after him, still trying to tie my shoelaces.

The party was already in full swing when we'd reached the common room. Seamus handed me a drink that, after a suspicious sniff, I put down immediately, opting for an innocent Butterbeer instead.

"Ginny!" I heard a voice squeal and a second later two arms flung around me and I was crushed into Ruth's bear hug. "Well done!"

"Thanks, Ruth," I laughed breathlessly when she'd pulled away.

"And when you flew into Smith! Perfection, really."

"He deserved it. I thought I'd straighten up his face a bit for him. Doesn't look like it worked, to be honest."

She laughed, scanning the common room. All of a sudden, she blushed and turned her head in the other direction.

"What's wrong?" I asked, trying to see what had made her blush.

"Nothing," she replied quickly, but I was already grinning. Jayson was standing in the corner of the common room talking to Neville, a Butterbeer clutched in his hand.

"Would Nothing be standing next to Neville?"

"I don't know what you're talking about," she replied briskly, inspecting her glass of pumpkin juice.

"Well you better watch out because Nothing's coming over here," I said smugly, smiling at Jayson when he caught sight of us and began to weave his way through the crowds of people, narrowly avoiding Seamus' flailing arms. He was attempting to dance, though he was more swaying drunkenly from side to side howling at the top of his voice while waving his arms in the air. The punch was definitely spiked.

"What? He is?" Ruth yelped, taking a quick look at Jayson, who had managed to avoid Seamus and was now trying to get past Vane's giggling gaggle of girls. She looked down immediately, her cheeks going red.

"I thought you didn't like him?" I tried, and failed, to keep the smugness out of my voice. I had had to endure this at the beginning of the year, and I was having far too much fun with it than would probably be considered as healthy.

"I don't."

"Then why are you blushing?"

"I'm not blushing."

"You seem like you're blushing to me," I taunted in a sing song voice. She scowled at me and I turned to the oncoming Jayson.

"Hi, Jayson!" I beamed with uncommon enthusiasm that made him start a bit.

"Hi, Ginny. Hi Ruth." His eyes lingered on Ruth for a second too long, and while my cheeks tugged up into a manic beam Ruth's pale cheeks flushed.

"Hi, Jayson."

"Well done today, Ginny. You played really well," he offered to me, and then his eyes went straight back to Ruth. The magnetic pull between the two that had started the minute he'd got within a meter radius of her was sucking me in too.

"Thank you very much, Jayson," I replied with a smile. There was an awkward pause in which Jayson looked at me and Ruth looked at the floor, and I knew instantly that I should go before I became more of a third-wheel than I already was. "Well, I think I'm going to go and find Dean," I announced. Ruth's head shot up and her eyes widened at me, but I could only grin more and more, which may have looked a little strange. "I'll see you in a bit."

Ruth glared at me as I walked away and I turned around to beam at her and give her the thumbs up behind Jayson's back. She rolled her eyes at me and then turned to answer Jayson's question.

I practically bounced away, feeling very happy with myself.

"What're you up to?" I heard Dean's voice say, and a second later a pair of arms caught me around the waist. I turned towards my boyfriend, whose eyes were twinkling as he placed a chaste kiss on my lips.

"Oh, you know," I waved an airy hand, replacing it onto his chest. "Playing match maker, being my usual brilliant self."

"Modest," he replied with a cheeky grin.

"I do try."

"I need to pop down to the kitchens for a couple of minutes to get some more Butterbeer, but I'll be back in like five minutes, okay?" I nodded, sipping on my own Butterbeer in a teasing manner that I hoped looked moderately appealing. "Don't disappear on me."

"I'll be right here," I replied, pointing to the corner of the rug I was currently standing on.

"Okay."

He kissed me on the cheek and left, leaving me standing alone on the corner of the mat. There was a loud 'ooh!' and a few wolf-whistles from the corner of the room and I spun round, wondering if Ruth and Jayson were faster workers than I thought. Unluckily for me, instead of seeing Ruth and Jayson, I saw something with shocking red hair and a ridiculous amount of freckles apparently trying to devour the face of a girl with sleek brown hair and an annoying giggle that sometimes haunted my nightmares. Fighting back the urge to heave my porridge back up and wishing that I had invested in a bucket, I quickly turned away from the spectacle Ron and Lavender were making.

"What is your brother doing?" I heard a familiar, misty voice question from beside me, and turned to see Luna staring at my brother, her head tilted slightly with a mildly interested look on her face.

"I don't know and I don't want to find out," I replied, still not looking at them in case they'd moved up a base.

"Maybe she's got something stuck in her throat and he's trying to get it out."

"With his tongue?" I asked sarcastically, and then instantly regretted it as the mental images assaulted my mind.

"That's how the Freshwater Plimpies do it."

"I don't want to know how you know that."

"No, I expect you don't," she replied dreamily, still staring at Ron and Lavender. I chanced a glance at them too – I was surprised Lavender wasn't a) throwing up or b) fainting at the smell. I only had to get within five metres of him before the stench got too much for me.

"Oh, Ginny," Luna announced suddenly, her gaze unfaltering. "Hermione's cat was trying to eat Arnold. I had to save him." Arnold was poised in the middle of the palm she held out, and when he saw me he let out a joyful trill and began to hop from side to side.

"Arnold!" I cooed, taking him and stroking his fur with one finger before setting him onto my shoulder.

"I don't think Crookshanks likes him much," she guessed, and I nodded in agreement. The bloody cat was always snooping around trying to eat my poor Arnold. I'd tried to file a restraining order, but apparently you can't get a restraining order against a cat yet. "Oh! There's Neville. I needed to talk to him about his Mimbulus Mimbletonia..." She walked away before I could even say goodbye. I stayed in my same spot, standing on my tip-toes to try and see over people's heads to the corner where Ruth and Jayson were standing. Jayson was talking and smiling at Ruth, who was laughing happily at whatever he was saying. Ruth was especially pretty when she laughed.

I returned to my feet – my toes were starting to hurt – only to find that when I did I was nearly knocked off them again by someone bumping into me. I looked up, annoyed that someone had nearly made me move when I'd managed so long without moving, though any insult I may have had was halted immediately when I saw Harry looking down at me.

"Looking for Ron?" I guessed, knowing that if Harry was alone then there was a seventy percent chance that he was looking for either of his best friends. When he nodded, I gestured to the back corner, still not looking in my brother's direction. "He's over there, the filthy hypocrite."

All the grief he'd given me about Dean! At least we'd had the decency to at least try and do all of our canoodling in private, not in full view of the common room! What he was doing was just down-right rude. The whole of Gryffindor did not want to see Ron exploring Lavender's throat (with the exception of Luna, but technically, she wasn't in Gryffindor) and I personally would never do such a thing.

"It looks like he's eating her face, doesn't it?" I asked, peeping at them them from the corner of the room and swearing that I heard a slurping sound. "But I suppose he's got to refine his technique somehow." I looked up at Harry's shocked face as his took in his best friends current position, vivid images of us in similar positions running through my head. "Good game, Harry." I found my arm coming up to pat his as he smiled at me, cursing inwardly as I did; the only people I'd ever seen pat people were my Uncle Bilius and an old man in the village near my house who spoke to himself.

Harry walked away and I glared down at the corner of rug that I had promised to stay on, starting to hate it as my feet longed to follow Harry's. I saw him leave the common room and frowned. Ruth was still talking to Jayson – they looked like they were hitting it off - Harry had left, Ron was otherwise occupied and I had no urge to speak to him anyway, Hermione was nowhere to be seen and I really didn't want to know where Luna was.

"Hey, Ginny!" I heard an Irish voice yell and found myself wishing again that I could move. Seamus stumbled towards me, a goofy grin on his face.

"Have you been drinking?" I asked him in a bored voice as he tripped over the tail of his robe.

"Nah, I'm just clumsy," he replied, then added with a wink, "why, does my clumsiness turn you on?"

"Go away, Seamus."

"Or what? You'll jump me right here in front of everyone?" The smirk on his face was enough to make me scowl.

"Dean's going to be back in a second and he won't be too happy when he hears what you've been insinuating."

"You know I'm only jokin' with you, Ginny," he breezed. "Where is Dean, anyway?"

"Gone to the kitchens to get some Butterbeer."

"Excellent," he breathed, clapping his hands together. "I think I might join him. Are you coming?"

"No thanks. I'll stay here."

"Suit yourself." He walked away, stubbing his toe on a chair leg as he went. I looked over at Ruth and Jayson again, but they were nowhere to be seen. I drained he last couple of drops of my Butterbeer, contemplating on where Ruth and Jayson could've went and what they could be getting up to there. I was getting rather bored standing in the same spot with people milling around me chatting and laughing. It had been well over five minutes, and Dean still wasn't back.

I heard a loud sniff that contrasted with the giggles around me and saw a puffy-eyed and a red-cheeked face framed by a mass of brown hair fly past me. Hermione had disappeared into the crowd before I could ask her what was wrong or deduce which way she was going. I tried to stand on my tiptoes again and see above the crowd, but it turned out I had chosen to stand in the middle of a circle of very tall people. I looked back down at my corner and then back at the crowd. I'm sure Dean wouldn't mind terribly if I moved, seeing as it was an emergency. Hermione had looked really upset, and if I was back before Dean was then I'm sure I could pretend I never left.

I stuck an apprehensive big-toe onto the floor not covered by rug, expecting to hear warning bells go off, though none did. I took a whole step to the side, enjoying the feel of smooth stone underneath my feet. I turned in a slow circle, realising that I had no idea where Hermione had gone, and in this ruckus it could take me ages to find her.

I spotted a chair to the left of me, occupied by a fourth-year boy who I'd seen hanging around with Romilda Vane. "Exuse me?" I said, and he looked up at me, startled by the interruption. "Can I borrow this?" I pointed to the arm of his chair. I think he was a bit confused as he nodded very slowly, his eyebrow raised. "Thanks."

I hoisted one leg up onto the cushioned arm of the chair, and, using his head to balance myself, pushed myself up so I was balancing on it. The boy looked quite alarmed, but I didn't really care at that moment. My vision was met by a sea of different coloured heads, though, after a quick scan, I realised that none of them were brown and bushy. I climbed back down again, thanking the boy, who was trying to avoid my gaze as if only looking me in the eye would make me as weird as he was. She wasn't anywhere in the common room, but she could be in her dormitory, or she could be somewhere in the castle. If it was the latter then it would take me hours to find her. I decided to check the easy option first – her dormitory.

"Excuse me," I repeated to the boy in the chair, who winced at the sound of my voice. "If a boy comes back looking for me, will you tell him that I'll be back in a couple of minutes? He's kind of tall, dark-skinned with dark hair and a really cute smile." The blonde boy gave me a look that was quizzical, shocked and afraid, and so for some reason I felt the need to elaborate. "See, I was meant to be staying right there" - I pointed to my spot on the rug - "until he got back, but I need to go and find my friend because I think she's upset and I don't want my boyfriend to come back and think that I broke my promise..."

The boy just looked downright terrified now. I rolled my eyes at the apparent lack of back bone in most of the fourth-years these days, and then sighed, "Will you just tell him I'll be back in a couple of minutes, please?"

I left before he could give me an answer.

I wound through people and clambered over chairs, emerging at the girl's stairs. I began to ascend, bypassing the door to our dormitory and climbing higher until I reached the door with '6th years' written on it. Hoping to Merlin that Ron and Lavender hadn't moved their little 'activities' upstairs, I let the door swing open.

My first thought was that they had a serious mouse problem, until I realised that the quiet sniffling I could hear was coming from the explosion of hair sitting on Hermione's bed, its arms hugging its legs and its head tucked into its knees.

"Hermione?" I tried tentatively, making my way towards her bed. The springs sighed in an 'I'm way too old for this' way as I sat down next to her. She looked up as she heard me sit down, her sleeves instantly wiping at her cheeks.

"Oh, hi, Ginny," she replied, her feeble voice trying desperately to pull of nonchalance, as if sitting alone in your dormitory while there was a party going on downstairs was completely normal. "What's up?"

"I was about to ask you the same question, actually."

"What? Oh nothing, nothing..."

"Hermione," I said in a gentle voice, shifting in a little closer. "What's wrong?"

"Wrong? Nothing's wrong..." I sighed at her attempt at a smile, which turned out more like a grimace. I looked down to check that I wasn't sitting on her hand or anything, just in case it actually was a grimace.

"Hermione, I'm not stupid, I know something's wrong." If the sniffling sounds or the tear tracks on her face were anything to go by, then she'd definitely been crying. I made a mental note to kick Ron were the sun doesn't shine the next time I saw him.

"Nothing's wrong," she repeated stubbornly, raising her chin.

"Does 'nothing' happen to have red hair, a big nose and an unhealthy appetite for sausages?" Hermione gave a watery giggle, which I took as a yes. "Ron's an idiot, Hermione, just ignore him."

"How do you know I'm angry at Ron?"

"Who else has red hair, a big nose and an unhealthy appetite for sausages? And don't say me," I warned her, shuddering at the mere thought of being grouped with my lets-make-everyone-cry brother. In the last couple of days he'd reduced three of the strongest, most stubborn girls to tears. Some might say he had a talent for making girls cry, others would say that he was just very, very stupid. And unfortunate.

"I always told myself," Hermione said after a pause, staring out of the window at the darkening sky. "That I could never like anyone who was arrogant and greedy and selfish and obnoxious..." Her gaze turned fixed onto mine, her eyes shining. "So why does your brother have to be the exception to that rule?"

I sighed, picking at the bedclothes before looking up at her again. "Because stuff like this doesn't have rules? You can't expect it to fall into place just because you've figured it all out, written it all down. Trust me, I would know."

"Well that sucks."

I had to laugh at the usually highly articulate Hermione's grumble.

"Sure does."

The small smile that had crept onto her face vanished again, a down-heartened look replacing it.

"Look, Hermione," I sighed, taking one last stab at cleaning up my brother's mess. "Ron's an idiot. He wouldn't see love if it hit him in the face with a fish. He doesn't notice things that normal people do. He's a typical boy. He's going out with Lavender, for goodness sake."

After a quick wince at the phrase 'going out', Hermione said in a small voice, "But Lavender's nice."

"But you're nicer."

"But Ron doesn't like me."

"I really think he does, Hermione, he just... doesn't know it yet. This is Ron we're talking about – it took him five years to realise that Butterbeer isn't actually very alcoholic. Just give him some time."

"I've given him almost three years," she replied. I can't lie and say that that didn't surprise me. Given Hermione's nature, I would've thought that she'd have done something by now. But, then again, I couldn't really talk. I knew that when it came to certain boys, there was just nothing you could do to get them to notice you. I knew that all too well.

"Maybe you could, I don't know... see other people?" I suggested, though I knew as soon as it came out that it was a terrible suggestion. I knew that if Hermione had liked Ron since her fourth year then she wasn't going to change her mind easily – she must've really liked him.

"You mean make him jealous?" She questioned hesitantly, and a light-bulb flickered on in my head.

"Yes!" I hissed, a streak of brilliancy accompanying the idea. "That's exactly what you should do!"

"I don't know, Ginny..." she said doubtfully, biting her lip, but my plan was already calculated and there was no distracting me.

"Hermione, it's a good idea! Ron gets jealous very easily, and if you go out with someone else then you're sure to get a reaction out of him."

"But I don't want to go out with somebody else. And finding someone else to go out with and getting them to like me enough to go out with me is too much hassle," she reasoned, and I had to agree. I frowned, taking a second to calculate.

"Well, don't go out with someone then, just go on a date or something – wait! Have you got a date for Slughorn's Christmas party yet?"

"No," she replied suspiciously, and with a brain like hers I was surprised that she didn't already know what I was implying.

"So take someone! It doesn't have to be anyone special. Anyone with the appropriate male organs will make Ron jealous enough."

"Ginny!" she objected loudly, her cheeks flushing, but I brushed off her embarrassment with a wave of my hand.

"It'll work, Hermione, trust me."

"Are you sure?"

"Positive," I told her uncertain face, hopping off the bed. "I'm going back down to the party to forget about Ronald and enjoy myself. Are you coming?"

"Ron and Lavender will be down there," she replied in a small voice.

"All the more reason to come down and show Ron that you could not care less whom he kisses."

"But," she whispered, looking up at me from under her lashes. "I do care about who we kisses."

"But you can't let him know that," I told her in a gentle voice, taking her hand to ease her up off the bed. She stumbled to her feet, looking at me doubtfully. "It'll be alright," I assured her. "You are a strong, independent woman. You don't need a man to rule your life and you don't need my prat of a brother to ruin your night." I placed my hands on my hips to enforce how stubborn I was. "You will have a good time." It came out more as a command than a request, and Hermione gave a watery chuckle. I walked towards the door, turning to check that she was following me. She looked longingly back at her bed, then to my stubborn face, rolled her eyes and walked around me to leave the room first.

I grinned, feeling unusually euphoric.

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**A/N: I've had some interesting thoughts on Nathanial (who wasn't featured in this chapter, unfortunately) and I suppose you'll just have to wait and see :) I have developed a strange fondness for him though - maybe it's the Shakespeare? Also, Jayson will be mentioned a lot more in upcoming chapters :)**

**I hope you enjoyed, and as usual, any reviews are appreciated :)**

**- SprayPaintedShoes**


	15. Chapter 15: Stupid Niffler

**A/N****: WHOOP another chapter and it's only been thirteen days! Haha, that's almost two weeks - I'm awfully sorry. I've been trying to write but every time I sit down at the computer a little voice in the back of my head goes 'you should be revising! You're going to fail your GCSEs!' etc. **

**That's also the reason that this chapter isn't the most trimmed chapter I've ever written. Normally I read over the chapter a couple of times before I update it, but I have a maths exam tomorrow and I really need to revise :l So I'm sorry. And now I have to think up of a name for this chapter :/ But anyway, enjoy!**

**_Disclaimer: Yadda yadda I don't own Harry Potter :)_**

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Chapter 15 - Stupid Niffler...

"Good morning," I sang as I plopped down next to Ruth in the Great Hall one snowy winter morning. Sunlight streamed through the glass windows, and the sound of bird-song, clinking glasses and aimless chatter floated through the air. I beamed at a girl next to me, who looked bizarrely back at me and shuffled along.

Ruth frowned and narrowed her eyes at me. "You're in a suspiciously good mood today."

"What do you mean?" I inquired, spooning cornflakes onto my plate. Ron and Harry were sitting further down the table; Harry was rolling his eyes at my idiot of a brother who, for the record, I was still not speaking to. Harry looked up and caught my eye. I smiled and, after a flicker of surprise, he returned the smile. My insides jiggled, but I was just too happy to subdue them, so I let them jiggle on.

"Well, normally in the morning you're kind of..."

"Grouchy," Luna's voice offered brightly as she sat down on my other side, pieces of mistletoe fashioned into earrings swinging from her ears. I wondered if she'd had them de-Nargletised before realising that no sane person should be wondering such things.

"I'm not grouchy today!"

"Exactly," Ruth said, sipping her pumpkin juice in a complacent manner usually reserved for old men with bushy eyebrows and pointy beards. "That's why I'm worried."

"No need to worry, oh dearest Ruth of mine, I am quite alright." Her mouth dropped when I patted her on the shoulder, and she shared a significant 'you call the ambulance and I'll get the straightjacket' look with Luna, which I ignored, because I was too happy to care whether they thought I was insane. I'd already cleared it up in my own head that I was insane, anyway.

"You're strange," she stated simply, stirring sugar into her porridge.

"Luna's stranger."

"In the language of the Flitzebees, the word 'strange' means 'one who is kind, helpful and loved by all'," Luna pointed out, and then she beamed at me. "So thank you, Ginny."

"You're welcome, Luna!" I replied enthusiastically before sending Ruth a 'point proven' look. The post owls came flooding through the windows, shooting envelope-bullets at the unsuspecting students below.

"Are you going to tell me why you're so happy?"

"Well, it's snowing..." I started, sighing contently as I looked up at the swirling sky and hoping that I had time for one last snowball fight before I left for the Burrow. Even the thought of frozen ice down my knickers and sludge in my boots wasn't enough to squash my excitement.

"And?"

"I like snow."

"That can't be the only reason though." I watched Romilda Vane pout at herself in a compact mirror for a second before I replied.

"We break up for Christmas in three days," I reminded her.

"So?"

"So," I said in an obvious voice while Luna squished grapes and added them to a goblet of suspicious purple liquid. "Where is Dean going to be over the Christmas holidays?"

"How would I know?"

"He's going skiing with his cousins."

"And you're happy about his holiday plans, why?"

"Where am I going to be over Christmas?"

"In a mental institute?" I gave her a flat look, annoyed that she wasn't playing along properly. Luna began to stir her strange concoction – for a second I considered asking her what she was making, but I thought better of it. I probably didn't want to know anyway. Finally, Ruth sighed and recited back obediently,

"You'll be in your house, probably."

"Without Dean," I added on.

"I'm guessing so, unless you've had a ski slope installed in your kitchen."

"Who else will be at the Burrow?" I raised my eyebrows suggestively, nodding my head toward the end of the table.

"Luna?" Ruth quizzed, frowning. Luna stopped adding orange peel to her goblet and looked over at Ruth and me, her eyes wide and expectant.

"No," I replied impatiently, jerking my head down the table once more, my hair flicking in Luna's face.

"Ron?" Luna asked after she'd brushed her face off. I nodded widely, glad that someone understood my rather strange game.

"And who else?"

"Fred!"

"Besides Fred."

"George!"

"Besides George." I struggled to keep my eyes stationary and prevent any involuntary rolling from occurring. Ruth sniggered.

"Uh... Ron!"

"You've already said Ron," I reminded her.

"Can't you just tell us?" Ruth whined, rubbing her eyes.

"No," I replied stubbornly. I realised that I probably shouldn't confuse my best friends with mind games that early in the morning. I thought I'd give them a clue to help them out. "Who is going to be at my house this Christmas who is not a member of the Weasley family?" When I received two perplexed looks I added on, "Who I've been _very_ interested in lately." Ruth seemed to have given up, as she went back to her porridge, but Luna was bouncing up and down with excitement.

"Ooh ooh – Harry! And you're happy because you can flirt with him without Dean knowing because you don't have a ski slope in your kitchen!"

"Ding ding ding, we have a winner!" I announced loudly, laughing.

"How do you figure this kind of stuff out?" Ruth demanded as Luna and I broke into a breakfast-style happy dance, including much cutlery-shaking and cornflake-crunching.

"You're just not on the ball today, Ruth-old-friend," I chided. "Luna and I are on the same wavelength," I told her superiorly while Luna tapped a solo on her goblet with a spoon.

"Do you even know what a wavelength is?"

"As long as I'm on Luna's, I couldn't care less what it is," I said happily, in a voice loud enough to be heard over Luna's goblet banging.

"You're scary when you're this happy," Ruth said in a disgruntled voice, and I merely beamed at her. Hermione walked past, caught sight of Ron, turned around and sat opposite us instead.

"Hi, Hermione," I sang suggestively, waggling my eyebrows. She frowned and looked at Ruth, who merely shrugged.

"Hi, Ginny."

"Got a date for the Christmas party yet?"

"Ginny," she groaned as she piled bacon onto her plate. Luna continued to thump her goblet against the wooden table, banging out a tribal-like warrior chant that was a little too practiced for my liking. I stilled her hand, taking the goblet from her and putting it onto the table.

"What?" I asked innocently, arching my fingers in front of me and resting my face on them, trying to pull off the angelic 'Ulterior motives? Me?' look.

"Don't start."

"Don't start what?" I parroted.

"Going on about Slughorn's party."

"I thought you were going to get a date and make Ron jealous?"

"I thought you said I was a strong independent woman who didn't need a man by my side?" she retorted, one eyebrow arched.

"Your date wouldn't be by your side, technically, if you walked in front of him," I argued. Ruth laughed at my slightly twisted and not all truthful logic, but Hermione shook her head wearily.

"It's in three days, Ginny; I doubt I'm going to get a date."

"Sure you are! Plenty of guys would love to go with you!" I told her enthusiastically, ignoring her doubtful look. Luna was nodding along with me, her mistletoe earrings bobbing up and down and jingling slightly.

"How about him?" Ruth asked, pointing to a guy on the Ravenclaw table. I turned around to see who she was gesturing to; he was tall, blonde and didn't have any drastic facial abnormalities. I approved.

"No."

"Why not?" I demanded, looking Option No. 1 over again.

"He's in my Ancient Runes class and I know for a fact that he too is in love with Lavender."

"Ron isn't in love with Lavender," I objected, watching Hermione butter her toast in such a methodical way that I began to feel slightly envious. Why did my toast-butter situations always end up in disaster? Remembering this, I leaned back slowly, hoping to put as much space as I could between the butter and me.

Hermione frowned. "How do you know I was talking about Ron?"

"Who else would you be talking about?" Hermione put down her toast and I let out the breath of air I'd been holding and leaned forward, though one eye remained trained on the enemy.

"Plenty of guys are in love with Lavender."

"How about him?" Ruth interrupted our pointless arguing, pointing once more, this time over my head.

"Who?"

"Over on the Hufflepuff table. Next to the girl with the blonde hair." I twisted around, spotted the girl with blonde hair and looked at the boy next to her. This one had brown hair, looked to be around mid-height and was laughing at something.

"He looks like he has a sense of humour," I noted, watching as Option 2 took a sip from his goblet while wondering whether he was a tea or coffee kind of guy.

"I'm taller than him," Hermione complained, straightening up in her seat.

"How do you know?" Ruth challenged.

"He was in my Arithmacy class in third-year." She surveyed him over the top of her goblet – she seemed to be the only one trying to be discreet about the whole guy-assessing thing. Luna, Ruth and I were simply gawking, and attracting quite a lot of attention too.

"He could've grown since then," I reminded her, but she shook her head.

"I doubt it."

"How about him?" Luna suggested, pointing to a boy that had just entered the Great Hall.

"That's Dean, Luna." I rolled my eyes, waving at my boyfriend as he sat down a little further along the table. "I'm going with him."

"How about the one next to him?" She asked.

"I am not going with Seamus," Hermione said before any of us could comment. I didn't blame her in the slightest – I knew how horrific Seamus' party dancing could be. Girls had ended up in the Hospital Wing due to arm-flailing-induced injuries once he'd approached the dance floor.

"Come on, Hermione. You've said no to four options."

"The last two didn't count."

"How about him?" Ruth repeated, pointing to a boy sitting not too far down our table. He was looking away, but his hair was a sandy blonde and he didn't look too strange.

"Cormac McLaggen?" By the look of pure disgust on Hermione's face, I guessed that the boy was either incredibly stupid or had a very, _very_ bad facial abnormality.

"What's wrong with him?" I asked, craning my head to try and get a look at his face, but to no avail; there was a pitcher of milk in the way.

"Ron and Harry hate him."

"Even more reason to go with him! If you go with someone he hates Ron will get even more jealous, trust me." She looked apprehensive, though to be honest, with my track record, I wouldn't trust myself either. Her eyes trailed up at down this Cormac guy.

"Are you sure?" she asked finally.

"Certain," I assured her.

"Fine," she replied with a sigh after a long pause. She got up and swung her bag onto her shoulder, abandoning her perfectly buttered toast. "I'll ask him at lunch."

"Yay, Hermione!" I cried loudly, and Luna resumed her cutlery-clanging. Hermione rolled her eyes and walked away.

"You two are strange," Ruth repeated, and I grinned.

"I know."

*

"Could Snape have given us any more holiday homework?" Ruth complained as we stumbled through the portrait hole, balancing piles of books and quills in our arms while negotiating a path through the clutters of students.

"I don't think it's physically possible; he's practically given us every Defence assignment we've ever done and more to do," I replied as Ruth shooed a couple of first-years out of our favourite chairs and slammed her books down on the table. Seamus, who was snoozing in an armchair next to it, started in his sleep, mumbling something about goblin feet.

"I hate him." Ruth threw herself into a chair and I did the same thing, nodding in agreement. Soft snores began to waft from the pile of robes in Seamus' seat, as well as the occasional mutter.

"Jump on the toadstool and I'll give you a biscuit..." Ruth sniggered at Seamus as she pulled out her potions homework while I tried to imagine what in the world he could be dreaming about. Dean had told me last year that Seamus sometimes talked in his sleep, and according to him, he'd said stranger things.

"Ginny!" I craned my head in the direction of my name and saw Hermione hurrying towards me, her cheeks slightly flushed and her hair even more frizzy than I would have thought possible.

"Yeah?"

"I asked him," she blurted, crouching down next to the seat I was slouched in. By the embarrassed blush on her cheeks I didn't need to ask her to elaborate.

"Stop crinkling my magazines!" Seamus slurred from the corner.

"What did he say?"

"Uh, yes."

"I knew he would! Well done, Hermione!" I clapped her on the back and she stumbled forward slightly at the force, wincing.

"Cover him in jam and feed him to the clocks..."

"I hope I don't have to actually _talk_to him at the party," Hermione mumbled when she'd resumed her crouched position. "I think I'd have more intellectual conversations with a racoon. A stupid racoon."

"No, you just have to be seen with him," I assured her, patting her back with a little less force this time.

"I thought you were meant to be the scheming one?" She said, and Ruth laughed, her eyes trained on her potions essay.

"Run away... the rabbits – the rabbits are coming..." Seamus started to twitch.

"I am. I'm doing all of your scheming for you. All you have to do is do what I say. You've got the easy part!"

She rolled her eyes. "Remind me to thank you later."

"Are you leaving?" I asked when she straightened up and smoothed out her skirt, patting her hair into place.

"I need to pop to the library to return this book." She held up a heavy looking, leather-bound book with confusing symbols engraved into the front – something I would call 'Hell' and Hermione would call 'light reading'.

"I'll return it for you, if you want. I've got to go to the library anyway; I need a book for Defence against the Dark Arts."

"Are you sure?" I jumped up out of my seat to show her that yes, I was definitely sure, and snatched the book from her hands before she could object.

"Stupid niffler..."

"Are you coming, Ruth?"

"No," she replied distantly, her eyebrows furrowed as she reread a sentence of her essay.

"Suit yourself." I left the buzzing common room and bounced down the quiet corridors, swinging Hermione's hefty book in my arms. I skipped down a flight of stairs and past a suspicious looking suit of armour that whistled loudly when I walked past and shuffled slightly to the left.

"My dear lady..."

Once, in fourth year, I'd went to Ruth's for tea and she'd made me watch a film called 'Jaws', involving much blood, sharks and daunting theme music. That same theme music seemed to seep in the corridor as I rotated very, very slowly.

Nathanial was standing in front of me, smirking smugly. He waggled an eyebrow and twice and I died a little inside.

"Hey, baby."

"No!" I exclaimed loudly as soon as the familiar oozing voice reached my ears. Squeezing my eyes shut, I covered my ears with my hands and shook my head. "No, no, no!"

My hands failed me in my attempt at blocking him out however, as I heard a small, slimy voice simper, "what is it, my dear?"

"You are not here!" I told the back of my eyelids, refusing to open my eyes. I was having a good day and I was not about to have it wrecked by Nathanial. "You are not real! You are a figment of my imagination!"

"I understand how you could confuse my perfect looks and charm for a dream, but trust me, I'm a reality."

I wrenched my eyes open and glared downwards. The look he gave me was enough to make me want to run up to the Astronomy Tower and throw myself out of the window. Twice.

"Well I'm going to pretend that you aren't real." I turned on my heel and charged back down the corridor, back past the suspicious suit of armour and back up the stairs, realising that I'd have to take another route to the library.

"Where are you going?" Nathanial was following me like a Yorkshire terrier, his head bobbing along next to my elbow.

"None of your business."

"Might I accompany you?"

"No."

He continued to trot along beside me and I considered making a run for it. "So," he said after a pause, his tone different from the previous Shakespearean one. "I've been thinking and I've decided that we're ready to go public about our relationship –"

"Do you have a split-personality or something?" I challenged over him, weighing the book in my arms and wondering whether it was enough to knock him cold long enough for me to transfer to Beauxbatons. Though of course, in a school filled with hundreds of mini-Phlegms, I'd need someone to knock _me_ out with a book on a daily basis. Perhaps he would do that for me?

"No. What do you mean?"

"One moment you're talking like Shakespeare, the next you sound like Elvis and now you sound completely different – wait, what relationship?" I demanded, spinning around to glare at him. He skidded to a halt, tripping over the tail of his too-long-robes and looked innocently back up at me.

"Our relationship," he replied as if it were the most obvious thing in the world, which, considering only he knew about it, it wasn't.

"We don't have a relationship," I clarified. I had spoken to him a handful of times, he had stalked me for a handful of months – relationships were not comprised of secret conversations and creepy stalking, unless of course you were Pince and Filch (I'd suspected something stirring between them for a long time now). Whatever it was that we had together was definitely _not_ a relationship.

"Yes we do. And that's why I've decided that we need to go public about it. We need to show the world that we're in a relationship."

"But we aren't," I repeated, setting off down the corridor again. "And how do you plan on doing public? And you can wipe any clever ideas involving PDA right out of your head, mister." I shivered in disgust.

"Ginevra." Before I had a chance to get fired up about the use of my full name he wheeled around in front of me to stop me. He took the book from my hands and held it behind his back. "Will you do me the honour of accompanying me to Slughorn's Christmas Party?"

I spluttered nonsense at him as all of the mini-Ginny's in my head began to run around and bang into things in a flurry of outrage and confusion. When they'd flopped onto the floor, dizzy with grief, I managed to form the words, "But, you're not even _invited_ to Slughorn's."

"I know, but you are."

"So shouldn't I be the one asking you?"

"I knew you were too embarrassed to ask me, in case I said no obviously, so I thought I'd save you the trouble and ask you instead. And just so you know, I accept." He nodded pompously and winked at me. I took a step back, blinked hard, shook my head and dodged around him as I began to walk away.

"No, no, no. This is not happening. You are not real. You are a figment of my imagination..."

"Ginevra!" He was running after me, his hair so greased that it didn't move from its original position.

"You are not real; you are a figment of my imagination..."

"I know you're worried about what people will say, but I'm not! The only thing I care about is our undying love, and I know that it will shine through!"

I wheeled into the library, hurrying towards the shelves in a desperate attempt at losing him among the stacks. The library was relatively empty, with most of the students at the other end littering the tables and chairs, talking freely, their thoughts untroubled by creepy stalkers.

I reached the Ancient Runes section, breathing in deeply. By my reckoning, I had two options: 1) accept that Nathanial was stalking me or 2) remain blissfully ignorant and continue to hope that I was insane and simply imaging everything due to the many times I was dropped on my head as a baby. After settling on Option 2 (I _had_ consumed a lot of crayons during my youth) I raised my hands to replace Hermione's book only to discover that my hands were, well, empty.

"Looking for something?" a smug voice droned. My imaginary, insanity-fuelled friend appeared next to me, holding Hermione's book up to my eye level. I reached out to snatch it but he ducked and twisted away before I could touch it, leaping to the side.

"Nathanial, give it me back!"

"Ah, ah, Ginevra dear. You shouldn't have to raise a finger."

"I'll be raising a particular finger if you're not careful," I muttered as I watched him stand on his tip-toes to try and return the book to its place. He swayed and the book almost tumbled from his hands as he hopped up and down. "You can't even reach the top shelf," I said, swiping the book from his hands. "I'll do it."

"You don't do Ancient Runes," he said as I slotted the book between two equally heavy-looking ones, wishing I could squeeze in with it and _die_.

"How do you –" I started, and then I paused. I turned to stare at him, my eyes wide. "You have _not_ memorized my schedule."

"How else am I meant to know where to find you between lessons? I need to know which classes I'm walking you to and from," he stated simply, crossing his hands behind his back and rocking forward onto his tip-toes.

"You've never walked to me a lesson before," I said, frowning.

"Just because you never _see_ me walking you to your lessons doesn't mean I don't walk you to your lessons," he pointed out, grinning.

I stared down at him, speechless. He was smiling goofily, and I resisted the urge to slap myself. Surely imaginary friends weren't meant to make you want to suffer a slow and painful death after being crushed by several heavy bookcases? "I'm going to go now..." I said slowly, turning around hesitantly, inwardly shaking myself.

"A thousand times goodnight!" I heard him whisper loudly. I sucked in a deep breath and puffed out my cheeks, exhaling loudly. I began to leave when his annoying voice stopped me again. "Aren't you meant to be getting a book for Defence against the Dark Arts?"

I spun around, eyeing him suspiciously. "How did you know that?" He merely looked up at me expectantly. "You aren't going to answer me, are you?"

"Shall I lead the way to the Defence against the Dark Arts section?"

"Go on then," I muttered, trudging after him as he pranced off to a section near the back of the library, his robes billowing behind him and making him look remarkably like a mini, more eccentric Snape. He twirled to a halt beside one of the bookcases, sweeping his arm towards the array of books.

"Take your pick."

"Thanks," I mumbled, turning to the books and running a finger along each of their spines. I couldn't pay attention to them though; I ended up reading the same 'Defend Against Hairless Rodents!' book several times. I could feel his stare on my back like an annoying itch that's impossible to reach no matter how much you stretch.

"Are you ever going to give up this stalking thing?" I asked nonchalantly, still studying the books. To be fair, I couldn't even remember what essay I needed the books for.

"Do you want me to give up this stalking thing?"

I spun around, grasping onto the bookcase behind me for support. "Yes! Please! Would you do that?"

He grinned psychotically at me, and I quickly came up with the conclusion that I had created a demented imaginary friend that obviously hadn't been hugged enough as a kid and as a result had decided to destroy my life in the slowest, most painful and irritating was possible. I groaned loudly, glaring at the evil, greasy, smarmy, scheming little –

"I thought you were meant to love me?" I demanded, towering over him.

"I do!" He yelped loudly and I heard a hissed 'shh!' that could've only come out of Pince's pinched mouth. I looked around wildly and then fisted my hand into the neck of Nathanial's robes, dragging him into the next isle and away from Pince's prying eyes.

"Ssh!" I echoed. "If you love me so much then you should do what I want and _leave me alone_!" I hissed.

"But I can't do that, Ginevra," he answered simply, and I frowned at him. The lamps dulled automatically, the glow only lighting the top halves of the shelves. Nathanial's small body was engulfed in darkness.

"Why not?" I whispered to the darkness, feeling incredibly stupid and hoping that no one was spying at me. I was already known for being 'The One Who Got Rugby Tackled By Loony Lovegood In The Middle Of The Entrance Hall' and I didn't want to add 'And Also Spends Her Wednesday Nights Talking To Herself In The Library' onto the end of that title. It was already rather long.

"Because I know that you don't really want me to leave you alone!" the darkness whispered back.

"Well I've got news for you, buddy," I whispered furiously, balling my fists. "I do want you to leave me alone! So – leave me alone!" I stormed down the aisle in a tip-toe, hissing over my shoulder when I turned the corner, "and don't follow me this time!"

***

"I have snow on my butt," I complained as I hobbled up the marble staircase, pulling slush out of my scarf. "Thanks to you."

"I can't help it if I have fantastic aim when it comes to snowballs," Ruth breezed, waving an airy hand and spraying droplets of ice onto my face. She didn't even need to remind me of her perfect aim; I'd experienced it first-hand, or should I say, first-butt.

We clambered into the common room, which smelt of damp clothing and winter, shrugging off our jackets and gloves as we dropped into two over-stuffed armchairs. I shook out my scarf, emptying the whole of Mount Snowdon onto the carpet, and raked a finger through my hair.

"What time does Slughorn's party start?" Ruth asked, rubbing her hands together.

"Eight, I think." I grimaced – standing in Slughorn's stuffy office with a load of people who all thought they were the 'bee's knees' and eating appetizers the size of my little finger didn't sound too appealing to me.

"What am I going to do all night while you're farting around at your little party?" Ruth moaned, pouting. I sure hoped that there wouldn't be any farting occurring at the party, especially in Slughorn's cramped office.

"You could talk to Jayson," I sang suggestively, leaning over to nudge Ruth in the ribs. She threw a pillow at me.

"Shut up."

"What? It was just a suggestion," I said innocently, resisting the urge to grin evilly and cackle.

"Jayson and I are just friends," Ruth told me stubbornly, though her voice faltered before she said 'friends' and I was fairly certain she was internally adding on 'with benefits'.

"Hi, Ginny! Hi, Ruth!" Luna plopped down into a couch in front of us, grinning and bobbing up and down with excitement. Her hair was piled on top of her head and secured with what looked like a twig. A muddy twig.

"Luna! How did you get in here?" Ruth asked, frowning. Usually, unless Luna was with either Ruth or me, the Fat Lady didn't let her in, what it being the _Gryffindor_ common room and everything. Not that Luna cared about technicalities.

"The window."

"What?!"

"Never mind about that," Luna replied impatiently, waving an airy hand at Ruth, who was glaring suspiciously at the traitorous windows. "Guess what I found today?"

"Your sanity?"

"No – a Hairy Bobushka!" she said in the way one might cry 'a massive sack full of galleons!' or 'an autographed Gwenog Jones broomstick!' Oh, to have an autographed Gwenog Jones broomstick... I quickly stopped my internal drooling before I began to externally drool.

"What in the name of Merlin is a Hairy Bobushka?" I inquired while Ruth banged her head repeatedly against the arm of her chair – her Luna-tolerance had obviously reached its limit.

"A Hairy Bobushka is a very rare creature only found in snowy conditions. It often disguises itself as a glove or a hat or a scarf so when unsuspecting victims pick it up it can devour their hand, neck or ears." Her finishing grin showed off all of her teeth. Ruth slumped onto the floor and I leaned over to pat her feebly on the head. "Look, I even managed to capture it!" Luna added on, burrowing into her school bag.

She pulled out her cloak and placed it on the table in front of us. I leaned in as she began to unwrap it, an odd feeling of tension arising in my stomach. Even Ruth opened a bleary eye to watch the spectacle.

She threw back the last corner of her cloak with a flourish whilst crying, "et voila!"

I stared at the thing in her cloak, any tension or anticipation in my belly bursting like a soap bubble. Lying in her cloak, looking very unremarkably glove-like was, believe it or not, a snowy, tattered glove. After a beat of silence in which Luna bounced relentlessly, Ruth said,

"So basically, you found someone's dirty old glove, picked it up and wrapped it in your cloak?"

"Don't be fooled by it disguise, Ruth!" Luna cried, wide-eyed. "The Hairy Bobushka is an extremely dangerous creature. Why, I had to run up to my dormitory and get my special Creature-Tweezers just to pick it up."

"Luna, it is a glove," Ruth stated simply, enunciating her words so much I could practically _see_ the full-stops between them. She leaned forward and swiped the glove from the table, holding it up by the finger and watching it flop feebly.

Luna screamed, attracting the attention of most of the common room. I pressed a hand over Luna's mouth, smiling apologetically at all of the frowning students surrounding us. If Luna wasn't careful she'd be faced with a restraining order prohibiting her from coming within a fifty metre radius of the common room, and I was pretty sure Ruth's signature would be right there with the majority of the Gryffindors'.

"Luna, shut up!" I hissed when I removed my hand. The screaming ceased, but a flurry panic-induced babbling replaced it.

"No, Ruth! Drop it, before it's too late! I warned you not to pick it up! Your hand! It's doomed! We need to get you to Pomfrey and Pomfrey to father so father can look you over to stop the poison that's seeping through your fingers this very second but oh _humdinger_! I won't have enough time to create an antidote tonight before the party! I'll need several Wrackspurts and the hair of a Hag and you _know_ how irritable they can get –"

"Wait," I said, waving my hands. She stopped instantly and peered at me through her orbish eyes, blinking.

"Yes?"

"You're going to Slughorn's party?"

"Yes. Harry invited me," she said simply, smiling. My mouth dropped open as my heart wrenched off its tap dancing shoes and threw them as hard as it could at my stomach, screaming and clawing at my insides. Surprise was replaced with anger which was replaced by jealously which was replaced by ashamedness which was replaced by hurt which was replaced by a nauseating feeling caused by the unexpected rush of feelings.

"What?" I croaked, my voice sounding dead.

"Harry invited me," Luna repeated, and then she frowned, looking concerned. "Are you okay? Is it the Wrackspurts? Are they bothering you?"

"I don't think it's a Wrackspurt that's bothering her," Ruth intoned gingerly, looking at my frozen face. My heart was now taking its anger out on my oesophagus, making it very hard to form coherent sentences.

"As in, like, a – date?" I spluttered after a moment. Ruth patted my shoulder sympathetically, but Luna looked instantly shocked.

"Merlin, no! Just as friends!" My heart stopped abusing my windpipe and patted it in an apologetic, 'no hard feelings, eh?' sort of way.

"Just as friends?" I echoed, feeling oddly parrot-like.

"Oh, of course, we made that perfectly clear." Luna was nodding so much that the twig was coming lose from her hair and pieces were falling in front of her face. "I thought you would've known that already, Ginny. I mean, why would Harry ask me on a date when he's in love with you?"

"Wait – what?" I demanded, my head swirling from all of the unexpected news Luna had pelted at me in the last five minutes. "How do you know?"

"Isn't it obvious?" Luna looked from Ruth's confused face to my shocked one, obviously realising that no, it wasn't obvious. "Well, he's always looking at you, Ginny, and smiling at you. Whenever you walk past he opens his mouth like he wants to talk to you, though that could just be because of the Moofers..."

My insides deflated while Ruth laughed at the word 'Moofer'. "So you don't know for certain that Harry likes me, you just think he does?" I asked, trying not to sound as disappointed as I felt inside.

"I know he does," Luna replied stubbornly, nodding.

"You never know, Ginny, Luna has been right on a couple of occasions..." Ruth whispered quietly to me. I took a second to try and remember one, and after much memory searching I came out empty handed.

"I can't wait for the party!" Luna smiled, resuming her jiggling. The stick fell from her hair and flopped onto the floor, though I don't think she noticed.

I began to feel considerably happier when Luna began to gush over people that were supposed to be attending, most of who, according to Luna, were involved in a secret operation to overthrow the government using Dark magic and gum disease.

"We should go to dinner," I said when Luna had finished telling us about the one-legged Warlock Slughorn had invited. As we stood up Ruth threw the Hairy Bobushka onto the table, where it remained unremarkably glove-like and boring.

"I'll meet you down there, I need to go and fetch my Spectrespecs," Luna said brightly, hopping off her chair and heading for the portrait hole. "Oh, Ruth!" she called as it swung open to let her out, much to the delight of many of the people in the common room, "if your fingers begin to turn a dark green and vibrate slightly dip them in a solution of salt water and cat poop!"

"Absolutely mental, that one," Ruth muttered when the Fat Lady swung closed behind Luna. "She's practically a Lunatic." Her eyes slid over to mine and I could see she was trying not to chuckle. "Get it? _Luna_tic?"

I rolled my eyes as Ruth laughed loudly at her joke, leading her out of the common room and down to the Great Hall. We were making her way down the Gryffindor table when I heard a loud voice exclaim,

"You could've taken anyone! _Anyone_! And you choose Loony Lovegood?"

I glared at the idiot I was ashamed to call my brother, who for the record, I _still_ wasn't talking to. Well, until now.

"Don't call her that, Ron," I snapped at him. First those two idiots in Transfiguration, now Ron – Luna may have a tendency to be slightly strange but in no way was she Loony! At least, she wasn't Loony all of the time. Just most of the time. "I'm really glad you're taking her, Harry," I told him earnestly, remembering Luna's overjoyed face earlier. "She's really excited."

I smiled at him, and when he smiled back my heart apologized to my stomach and politely requested its tap shoes back. I continued down the table, sitting down in an empty bit of bench next to Dean, Ruth sitting on my other side.

"Hey," Dean greeted me when I sat down, pecking my cheek. Seamus, who was sitting in front of us, gagged into his cottage pie, and I resisted the urge to ask him if the rabbits were still crinkling his magazines. "What time are we meeting tonight?"

"Uh, eight. In the common room."

"Is it in Slughorn's office?" He asked as I poured myself some pumpkin juice. I nodded, my mouth full of juice.

"What are you doing tonight, Ruth?" Seamus asked with a suggestive smirk, waggling his eyebrows in her direction. Ruth sighed.

"Whatever I end up doing I'll be doing it as far away from you as I can possibly get," she replied in the bored voice of someone who'd repeated the same sentence many-a-time. Seamus had been under the warped impression that he actually had even a slither of a chance with Ruth for a while.

"Come on, baby, don't be like that," he crooned, leaning over the table.

"Don't call me baby," Ruth warned threateningly, the butter knife in her hand seeming a lot more daunting than the one lying next to my plate. Whether that was because of the way she was holding it or because the top was covered in butter, I didn't know. Either way I leaned back slightly, eyeing it wearily.

"What would you prefer? Honey? Sugar? Sweet-thang?"

"How about leave me alone?" Ruth retorted sarcastically as she mashed her potatoes beneath her fork, no doubt imagining Seamus' face was inside each one of them.

"That's not very catchy though," Seamus quipped and the usual collective groan that followed any one of Seamus' jokes filled the air.

"Shut up, Seamus."

"Don't you need to get ready, Ginny?" Ruth asked after a couple of minutes, in which Seamus had hit on Ruth a total of fourteen times. I looked at Dean's watch, frowning. It was only half six – I had an hour and a half, but when I looked up at Ruth's face she was looking at me in a 'say yes or I will hurt you' kind of way.

"Uh, yeah. Yeah, I do," I said, leaving my cottage pie half finished as I stood up.

"I'll help you," Ruth offered quickly, rising from her seat. Dean bade me goodbye and promised to be in the common room at five to eight, whereas Seamus turned to Ruth and said,

"So I'll see you later then, yeah, babe?"

Ruth ignored him as we walked away, and I didn't blame her in the the slightest.

*

I stumbled out of the dormitory door and hour and a half later, having just suffered multiple ambushes from Ruth and Demelza, who had both been equipped with various hairbrushes and lipsticks. I'd had to lock myself in the bathroom and make them promise _not_ to attack me when I came out. In the end they'd agreed, rather reluctantly, and let me get myself ready.

I began to walk down the stairs, chuckling softly as I heard two voices scream at me from the other side of the door to 'have fun!', something I seriously doubted I'd end up having.

I reached the bottom of the stairs and scanned the common room, looking for Dean. My eyes picked him out between the masses of squishy armchairs, and as soon as I saw him I scowled instantly, the mini-Ginny's in my head grabbing their pistols and pitchforks.

Romilda Vane was standing way too close to Dean for my liking, flicking her hair and bashing her lashes and doing all of the things you _aren't _supposed to do to other people's boyfriends. But then again, it _was_Romilda Vane. I made my way towards them, coming to a halt next to Dean.

"Wow," he said when he saw me, his eyes taking in my clothes. "You look fantastic."

Vane scowled at me from behind Dean's back and I grinned. "So do you," I told him, letting my lips linger on his cheek a second too long when I kissed him. Sure enough, when I pulled away Romilda was practically fuming. Just to make it as clear as possible without tattooing it to his forehead that Dean was mine and no one else's, I laced my fingers through his.

"Romilda," I said loudly as if I'd only just seen her, my face stretching in to a grin. "Are you going to the party too?" She was dressed in a set of pink dress robes that made her look like one of the wedding cakes out of The Book that I'd seen Phlegm swooning over.

"Yeah, I'm going with Marcus... uh, Marcus what's-his-face," Romilda said, stumbling over her date's second name.

"Belby?" Dean offered, one of his eyebrows arching. I sniggered quietly; I wondered how many love potions Belby had been poisoned with before he'd finally agreed to go with Vane.

"Oh, yes. Silly me." She giggled and I had to resist the urge to gag.

"Where are you meeting him?" Dean asked. I raised my head to glare at him. He caught my eye as Vane glanced around the common room, and I gave him an 'if you dare ask her to walk down with us then I will not hesitate to castrate you' look, though I don't think he was quite as educated in my significant looks as I would have hoped as he merely looked confused.

"Oh, I'm meeting him in the Entrance Hall. He's in Hufflepuff."

"He's in Ravenclaw," Dean corrected her slowly, and I quickly disguised my snort as a hacking cough.

"Whatever," she replied, and then giggled, because obviously she hadn't giggled in the last seven seconds and when you're Romilda Vane giggling occurs as frequently as breathing. Sometimes more often. "Anywho, I need to go and get something from my dormitory, so I'll see you down at the party?"

My 'no' was drowned out by Dean's 'yes'. Romilda giggled and flounced away, her black hair streaming behind her, and for a bizarre moment I was reminded of Nathanial. Though I suppose it wasn't too strange; they were both ridiculously annoying, had black, greasy hair and liked to flounce a little too much.

"Shall we go then?" Dean asked, grinning down at me.

"Lead the way," I replied, smiling. "So," I started as we made our way down a set of stairs. "What were you and Romilda talking about before I came down?"

"Uh, just you know, school and stuff." He looked instantly suspicious when I 'mmed'. "Why?"

"Well, as you've probably realised, Romilda and I don't really get on, and since you two seem friendly I was you know, seeing if I could pick up some good tips or conversation topics for the next time I talk to her."

Dean rolled his eyes at my pathetic nonchalance. "Romilda and I aren't _friendly_. Not in the way you're talking about, anyway."

"What way do think I'm talking about?" I asked, twirling a strand of my red hair around my finger. We were getting close to Slughorn's office; the quiet babble was growing louder the further we went.

"You know what way I was talking about," Dean told me, his eyes stubborn. I could hear a mixture of Slughorn's booming laugh and bad mandolin playing echoing down the corridor.

"Do I?" I asked innocently, though Dean wasn't fooled – he'd known me long enough to know that 'innocent' and 'Ginny Weasley' rarely occurred in the same sentence without an 'is most definitely not' between them.

"There's nothing going on between me and Romilda," he recited wearily.

"I didn't say that there _was_anything going on between you and Romilda," I replied without missing a beat, studying my fingernails. This conversation was steadily going from harmless banter to semi-serious argument, and even worse, we were only a corridor away from Slughorn's office.

"Okay, so you didn't _say_ it, but you implied it."

"And how did I do that?"

"Ginny..." he groaned. We reached the door to Slughorn's office and Dean made to go in, but I stopped.

"What's wrong?" He asked, peering inside the office.

"I need to mentally prepare myself."

"For what."

"Big bellies, bad music and boring business men with atrocious moustaches," I said, taking the use of alliteration to the extremes.

"It won't be that bad," Dean assured me, and I looked at him doubtfully.

"I beg to differ."

"I beg that you differ _inside_ the office because I'm hungry," Dean complained, hopping from one foot to the other. I rolled my eyes – one day, when I'm old and lonely, I'm going to conduct a series of experiments on men's stomachs and find out _where_ the food men put into them goes. Perhaps it all gets used up making energy to fuel their belching contests, muscle flexing and ego boosting.

I was still marvelling at the brilliance of man's belly when Dean pulled me through the door and into my own version of hell, complete with velvet hangings, overly-buttered orderves and mandolins. Lots and lots of mandolins.

* * *

**A/N: First off, I'd like to say a MASSIVE thank you to everyone who reviewed on the last chapter, and to the couple of people who reviewed almost every chapter :) You've taken the story over the 200 review mark now, and that made me so happy :) So seriously, thank you so much.**

**Also, to 'no one in particular', who also reviewed on a most of my chapters but did it anonymously so I couldn't reply: a) thanks so much for all of your reviews, b) I want a U-NO-POO T-shirt too and 3) you wouldn't believe how long it took me to figure that out :)**

**And now I must venture into the land of fractions and simultaneous equations. If I haven't killed myself with a compass by tomorrow then I'll try to write as much as possible :) Good luck to everyone who has exams coming up!**

**- SprayPaintedShoes**


	16. Chapter 16: Are You Jenny Weasley?

**A/N: I said I'd get it done by this weekend, didn't I? :) I have to apologise though, because this chapter is shorter than my usual updates (only 5000 words) and it's practically a jumbled mess of mistakes, typos and badly worded sentences. This chapter kind of annoyed me though, and I knew that if I didn't update it then I'd just sit there staring at it and I wouldn't get anything else done. So yeah. I'm sorry :)**

* * *

Chapter 16 - Are You Jenny Weasley?

"At least try to smile," Dean muttered into my ear as we weaved through the mess of waistcoats and pot-bellies, the mandolin music sounding oddly like the wails of a troubled, horror-stricken banshee. Definitely a sign.

"I am smiling," I grumbled, eyeing a floating tray full of what looked like fish tails as it zoomed past. A pair of stubby feet underneath it told me that Slughorn must have had the house-elves serving his guests food. Despite my pissed-offedness, I couldn't help but giggle as I tried to imagine what Hermione would say.

"You're grimacing," he objected. With his hand on my back he steered me further into the room and no amount of heel-digging on my part could slow him down.

"You say grimace, I say smile," I retorted, resisting the urge to cross my arms and pout. If Harry did turn up I didn't want him to see me pulling the I-didn't-get-my-way-so-I'm-going-to-sulk-until-someone-notices-and-does-something-about-it act. Instead, I settled with a lip purse, hoping my face looked sophisticated and impassive, while still looking pissed off.

"Do you want a drink?" Dean asked, and I got the impression that he was fishing for an excuse to get away from my boredom and me. I nodded, feeling generous despite my pissed-offedness.

He disappeared into the crowd and I was left alone to fend off a shower of spittle coming from a group of chortling old men beside me. I edged away after a particularly hard, metal button popped off one of their waistcoats and hit me square on the forehead.

"Miss Weasley!" Slughorn bounded up to me, a glass of mead in his hand and a forehead so shiny I could see my face in it. Perhaps he'd polished it for the occasion.

"Hi, Professor," I replied uneasily, not too comfortable with the whole talking-to-teachers-outside-lessons thing. Did I still call him Professor? I didn't know his first name, and even the thought of calling him 'Sluggy' made me die a little on the inside.

"What do you think of the party?" he asked, beaming in a way that made his moustache wobble.

"Oh. It's really, uh –"

Luckily, I didn't get the chance to tell Slughorn exactly what 'uh' meant (some of the words that sprang to mind were surely illegal) as Dean appeared with two bottles of Butterbeer, momentarily distracting Slughorn.

"Oh – hello."

"Hi, Professor." Dean smiled awkwardly. Having given up Potions last year he hadn't had the chance to get used to Slughorn's shiny, shiny forehead. I remembered being momentarily mesmerised the first time I saw it too, and so I patted Dean on the arm in a somewhat comforting gesture.

"Mr Thomas, is it?"

"Uh, yeah," Dean replied. I sipped on my Butterbeer, frowning at a pale looking man in the corner of the room. Surely You-Know-Who's look hadn't caught on _already? _It had taken people ages to see the brilliance in Dumbledore's plum coloured robes.

"Yes, I saw you play Quidditch." Slughorn wobbled a finger at Dean, who beamed.

"Oh. Well, it's only a temporary position," he explained modestly, his dark cheeks flushing. Guessing that I should leave the two lovebirds alone, I muttered something unintelligible and sidled away.

My Hermione-scouting was a lot more successful this time around – most of the guests were as vertically challenged as I was, so I didn't even need an armchair. I spotted the bushy brown hair almost instantly, sailing past a group of surly looking goblins.

"Hermione!" I yelled, squeezing through the masses of people, ignoring all of the 'excuse me!'s and 'ow!'s. If they didn't want to be elbowed in the ribs then they should have steered clear. "Hermione!"

She spun round, and when she saw me she sighed in relief. "Oh, it's only you."

"Who else would I be?"

"You could have been Cormac." When she said his name her eyes narrowed and she glanced around suspiciously. I frowned, but I didn't havethe time to ponder over Hermione's strange behaviour as a second later she grabbed my sleeve and yanked me into the corner.

"Hey!" I exclaimed, stumbling over my own feet and tripping into the wall. One of the goblins next to us sniggered.

"Ssh!" Hermione cried, frenzied. "He might hear you!"

"Who might?" I asked, resisting the urge to smell Hermione's Butterbeer. If Seamus had been near it then it explained her craziness. If Luna had been near it then she was screwed.

"Cormac, of course!" she shrieked in a whisper, a talent that only Hermione seemed to have mastered.

"What's wrong with him?" Hermione gave me a look that I'd seen her giving Harry and Ron often – I was either being extremely stupid or I had unintentionally insulted her hair. I hoped, for the sake of my wellbeing, that it wasn't the latter.

"Talking to him is like talking to a brick wall. In fact, I'd have more fun talking to a brick wall!"

"I'm sure he's not that bad." It couldn't be any harder than trying to pull a coherent sentence out of Charlie in the morning, anyway. I'd get more enunciation from a drunken Troll with a toothache.

"He's boring, disgusting, impolite and totally self-absorbed," she stated flatly, ticking off the list on her fingers. "He's spent the last half an hour talking non-stop about Quidditch."

"Quidditch is interesting!" I objected, though part of me just didn't want to have to shoulder the blame for picking Hermione a lousy date.

"Yeah, but not when you've been treated to a blow-by-blow commentary of every match he's ever played. He hasn't even paused long enough to let me speak!"

"Come on, Hermione," I reasoned, knowing Hermione's tendency to over-exaggerate, SPEW being one good example. I slid my eyes to the side, wondering if I could distract Hermione from blaming me by pointing out the obvious pain the House Elves were suffering due to the _extremely_ heavy platters of crackers and cheese. "He can't be _that_ bad."

"I left for a whole five minutes to get a drink and he didn't even notice."

"Oh."

"Yeah."

"So, where is he now?"

"I don't know," she replied, her eyes scanning the crowd again in a way that made her look shockingly like Filch when he was snooping out one of Fred and George's pranks. I shuddered. "I just escaped."

"You can't hide all night," I told her, though knowing Hermione's stubbornness, I wouldn't put it past her.

"I know. And whenever I try to get away he seems to find me."

"You're not that hard to find, actually." I didn't notice that my eyes had drifted upwards until I looked back down and saw Hermione giving me the same look she'd given my previously. "Not that your hair isn't beautiful, or anything," I added on hastily, practically shoving my size-five foot into my mouth. Unfortunately though, I still had the ability to speak. "It's just a little big." Digging a hole, Ginny, digging a hole. "But – in a good way..."

"Stop talking, Ginny." My mouth snapped shut instantly and I mentally ordered it to remain like that for the rest of the night or suffer my red-faced doom.

"Oh Merlin," Hermione hissed, her eyes trained on something far away. I opened my mouth to ask what was wrong, before remembering and pressing it closed again. "I think Cormac's seen me. I've got to run."

She ducked and scooted away, her hands pressing her furious curls against her head, making her at least three inches smaller. A second later a large, sandy-haired boy appeared next to me.

"Have you seen Hermione?" It didn't take a genius to guess that this was Cormac. I snuck a glance to the side – Hermione was stuck behind a gaggle of witches who refused to budge, leaving her in clear view of the room. She was gesturing wildly to me, though unlike Harry and Ron, I wasn't practiced in the art of Hermione-gesture-deciphering. Her flailing arms and stabbing motions merely looked like some sort of war dance to me.

"Hermione...?" I started, trying and failing to stall long enough for me to figure out what Hermione's flapping motions meant. A bird? A wave? She wanted me to throw Cormac into the lake?

"Hermione Granger," Cormac repeated slowly as if talking to a stupid five-year old with a crayon shoved up her nose.

"I don't know who you're talking about, sorry."

"You were stood with her just a second ago," he stated simply, frowning.

Damn.

"I wasn't stood with anyone." Cormactowered above me, so I crossed my arms over my chest in what I hoped was an intimidating gesture. I rolled my eyes discreetly to the side again to see Hermione's hair disappearing into the crowd again.

"Yes you were."

"No I wasn't."

"Are you Jenny Weasley?"

Jenny Weasley? _Jenny_Weasley? As much as I hated to admit that I was wrong, Hermione was right: this guy was an ass. A big, beefy, self-obsessed, name-mistaking ass. With a bad haircut.

"No," I replied stonily, not bothering to correct him.

"You are!" he pressed, and I resisted the urge to take one of the floating fish heads and shove it into his mouth to stop him talking. The more he talked, the more I was reminded of my wrongness. The more I was reminded of my wrongness, the more pissed off I was. The more pissed off I was the more tempted I was to stick the fish somewhere else a lot more painful. "You scored against me in Quidditch tryouts! Though, of course, the sun was shining in my eyes and, like the gentleman I am, I thought I'd let you score. Don't want to crush your confidence, you know..."

"You know what," I announced loudly over his babbling. "If you spent more time paying attention to people than you did talking about yourself, then maybe you would know why Hermione's hiding from you."

"I thought you didn't know Hermione," he argued, and then he frowned stupidly. "She's hiding from me?"

Oh, Merlin. Tonight was not my night.

"Er."

For the second time that night, Dean saved me the trouble of having to explain myself.

"Everything alright?" he asked when he appeared next to me. His eyes remained narrowed at Cormac. The thought of Dean being able to inflict any lasting damage on the name-mistaking rock in front of me was, quite frankly, laughable, but I would let Dean hope. He squared his shoulders up sharply and I resisted the urge to chuckle.

"You took your time, didn't you?" I demanded.

"Slughorn was telling me about a man he knew who used to play for Westham," he told me, his face lighting up with boyish excitement. Once, I'd asked Dean if all football teams had names like Westham, like East-Chicken or possibly Southwest-Turkey. He'd looked at me like I was crazy and then walked away, shaking his head.

"Hermione's hiding from me?" Cormac repeated dumbly.

"Why don't you go and find out?" I suggested harshly. Cormac nodded briskly and then turned and began strutting away like a peacock. "Bye, Jenny," he called over his shoulder.

"It's _Ginny_!"

"Hey, there's Romilda," Dean noted casually, pointing across the room.

"Oh, wow. I can't wait to _not_talk to her," I said sarcastically, still glaring at Cormac and wishing I'd acted with the fish earlier.

"Ginny," Dean groaned, his face pulling into a puppy dog pout that I was not buying, thank you very much, not for all the lower-lip trembling in the world. "At least _try_ and be nice."

"Dean, face it. Romilda and I go together like ice cream and tomato ketchup on a hot, rainy day."

"You sound like you know what that tastes like," Dean said suspiciously, the corners of his mouth turning up in a smirk.

"I'd rather not talk about it, thanks."

"Well I'm going over to talk to her," he told me stubbornly.

"And while you have your brains bored out of you by non-stop giggling and flouncing I'm going to go and speak to Luna," I replied, just as stubbornly, stamping my foot for good measure.

"Luna's here?" Dean asked, mildly surprised.

"She came with Harry," I replied conversationally, all traces of our earlier dispute gone.

"_Harry and Luna_?" Dean asked, astounded. Anyone walking past could have easily mistaken us for a pair of old, gossiping, stocking-wearing ladies with false teeth and a strange affection for stale Custard Creams.

"They're just friends," I added hastily, not sure who I was reassuring more. "Friends," I repeated, just to clarify.

"Right, well. I'll see you in a bit then," Dean said after an awkward pause, in which we both desperately tried to avoid each other's eye and I resisted the urge to whistle.

"Have fun with your girlfriend," I said, leaning against the wall nonchalantly, trying to keep the smile of my face.

"Have fun with Luna," he replied in a mocking voice, a smirk sliding onto his face.

Damn.

Dean left to go and speak to Vane, whose giggles I could hear from across the room. Luna had an uncanny habit for just turning up out of the blue, and I knew from experience that it was better to let her find me, rather than go searching for her. I shrugged back onto the wall, counting softly under my breath, "three, two, one..."

"Hi, Ginny!" Luna's bright voice chimed from beside me.

"Right on cue," I muttered, and then turned to beam at her. Luna was wearing silver robes covered in so many sequins I could see billions of mini-Ginny's reflected in them. They grinned back at me.

"Pardon?" Luna asked, blinking owlishly at me.

"Never mind. Where's Harry?"

"He disappeared. I expect he was overcome by a swarm of Wrackspurts, in which case he will probably be outside opera singing in the moonlight to banish them."

The thought of Harry opera singing was enough to lighten my mood, and I even found myself giggling. "Right. So, are you enjoying the party?"

"Oh yes, I am indeed. I even made friends with a vampire." She beamed in a way that only Luna could at the thought of being acquainted with a blood-sucking, fanged beast of the night. "He asked me if I would take him on a private tour of the Hogwarts grounds, but I had to decline. You see, it's a Thursday today, and my Lunascope told me to avoid contact with grass or risk suffering a gruesome, gnome-related death."

"Right..."

"How are you finding the party?"

"It's, uh..." I was once again left speechless, but Luna merely blinked at me sympathetically.

"Wrackspurts, is it, Ginny?"

"Something like that."

"Maybe you should go and join Harry?" Luna suggested, her orb-like eyes so wide I could even see my face reflected in them too. It peered back at me, as if it were silently accusing me of not joining Harry earlier. "I hear duets are just as good at vanquishing Wrackspurts, and they do wonders for the scalp, too. Regular duet singing gives incredibly shiny hair, you know," she said with a knowing nod, and then her voice lowered to a whisper. "That's why Professor Snape has such shiny hair."

"Uh, I think that's called _grease_, Luna."

"Grease can come from a lifelong diet of whipped cream and apple skins," she added on, tapping a thoughtful finger against her chin. I vaguely wondered where Luna got this stuff from, before deciding that I really didn't want to know.

"Yeah, that must be it."

"Where's Hermione?"

"Hiding."

"Oh," Luna said, smiling as if I'd simply told her that Hermione was getting a drink or gone to the toilet. Even I had to admit, Luna was very odd sometimes.

"Hey," I heard a familiar voice say from beside me, and I turned to see Harry standing next to me. I frowned – he looked shaken. His cheeks were pale and his eyes darted around the room several times before they locked onto mine.

"Are you alright?" I asked him, concern leaking into my voice before I had the chance to stop it.

"Yeah, I am," he replied, a faint flush colouring his cheeks. I wondered vaguely if maybe he was feverish, but before I had the chance to ask, Luna intoned,

"Did the opera singing not work?"

"Uh..." Harry started, looking at me for an answer. I shook my head in an, 'it's Luna, do you need to ask?' way, and he nodded in an 'I suppose your right', way, while Luna simply looked perplexed in a sort of 'your meaningful gestures confuse me' way.

After we'd all finished sending each other significant looks, Luna skipped off to chat with her Vampire buddy again, leaving Harry and me alone.

"Great party, eh?" Harry mused awkwardly, rocking backwards and forwards on his heels.

"Mmm," I replied, for I had long given up trying to find suitable words to describe it.

"Want to get out of here?"

"Please."

We wasted no time in scurrying to the door, though just before we exited Harry spun around. I dug my heels into the plush rug to stop myself from barrelling right into his chest.

"What about Dean?"

Oh, right. Damn. I turned around, my eyes picking him out easily through the crowd. He was stood next to Romilda, laughing at something Marcus had said while Romilda stood next to them looking bored. Every so often, when Dean's eyes strayed to hers, she would pull back her lips in a grin and bat her eyelashes.

"He looks like he's enjoying himself. There's no need for him to come back with us."

"Shouldn't you at least tell him you're leaving?" Harry asked in his typically honest and noble way. I rolled my eyes grudgingly.

"Wait here."

Harry nodded and I weaved my way through the throngs of people until I reached him. "Dean?"

"Oh, Ginny," he replied, smiling. Romilda eyed me sharply, her fingers clenching around the neck of her bottle, and I guessed she was imagining my neck between her grubby mitts. "What's up?"

"I'm going to head back to the Common Room," I told him, and I saw Romilda visibly relax, a smug smirk stretching across her face.

"Oh, okay. I'll come with you," he replied, smiling slightly. Romilda scowled.

"No, no. You stay here. I'll probably just go to bed when I get back, I'm tired," I lied. Romilda grinned.

"Are you sure?" he asked, uncertain. Romilda frowned.

"Positive."

"Alright then," he said, and then he ducked to kiss my cheek. Romilda, having explored a variety of facial expressions in the space of ten seconds, looked slightly nauseated. "Night."

I bade him and Marcus goodbye, deliberately forgetting to include Romilda, who still looked slightly ill. I edged away, knowing that I would be the main target for Romilda's regurgitated stomach acid should it feel the need to join the party.

"Okay, I'm ready," I said when I'd reached Harry again. He smiled at me, gesturing in front of him for me to exit the room first. Now, I wasn't one for chivalry, but even I had to admit that Harry's gentlemanly gestures made me feel all soft and jelly-like inside.

I wobbled out of the door, trying to swallow my swoon.

"Thank Merlin," Harry breathed when the sound of creepy lift-music had faded. "I've got to say, that was one of the worst parties I have ever been to."

"_One_ of the worst?" I echoed. The mere memories of what I had experienced only minutes ago made me shudder.

"Ron, Hermione and I went to Nearly-Headless Nick's Deathday party in second year," he told me wearily.

"What?"

"Hermione guilt-tripped us into going," he explained, shaking his head. I laughed. Being a girl, I was immune to Hermione's methods, but the boy's seemed to be suckers for them. Heck, she'd even managed to make them join SPEW, and that was an achievement.

"What was it like?"

His answering shudder was enough information for me.

"Merlin, have you three ever had a week where you didn't do something out of the ordinary?"

Harry grinned in a way that made my already jellied insides tingle pleasantly, and I couldn't help but smile along with him. "Nope."

"Is Fleur going to be at the Burrow over Christmas?" Harry asked after a short pause. My head shot up to his so quickly my neck cricked. Inside, my brain was already formulating several violent and gruesome ways to destroy her should she hold any sort of attraction for Harry. My favourite involved a hedgehog, three old socks and a lot of pickles.

"Why?" I replied sharply, realising too late that I sounded way too suspicious.

"Hey, I just wanted to know," he breezed, laughing. I relaxed, his soothing chortle reducing me to little more than a puddle of Ginny on the floor. "Ron's the one who likes her."

"Ugh, he shouldn't. He has a girlfriend now," I said, though I doubted Harry needed reminding. Lavender stuck to Ron like a wart plaster, and since Ron stuck to Harry like an equally sticky wart plaster it sort of involved Harry in a rather dysfunctional love triangle.

"Do you really think that would stop Ron?" Harry asked, rolling his eyes in my direction. The dimmed oil lamps cast a faint glow around Harry's silhouette, glinting off his ruffled hair and boyish glasses. I bit back another swoon, internally scolding myself for being so Vane-like. Harry and I were having an _actual_ conversation, and I refused to wreck it by turning into a quivering pile of mush.

Harry turned his head towards mine and grinned cheekily. I knew then that I was way past that.

"Are Hermione and Ron still not speaking to each other?" I asked after my breathing had slowed and the corridor came into focus again.

Harry shrugged, exhaling loudly. "You tell me. She talks to you more than she talks to me lately."

"I thought you spent a lot of time together?"

"Yeah, in the library. And with Pince prowling around twenty-four-seven it's a bit hard to hold meaningful conversations."

I couldn't help but disagree when I thought back to my conversation with Nathanial only days ago.

"Do you think they're ever going to realise?" I mused aloud. I doubted even Cupid had enough arrows to make Hermione and Ron open their eyes and stop bickering long enough to realise that actually, they were both in love with each other and they were the only ones who didn't seem to notice. Though I'm sure half of Hogwarts, teachers included, would love the chance to give them a good kick in that direction.

"I don't know what you're talking about," Harry replied, instantly interested in his fingernails.

"Come on, Harry," I said, his pitiful attempt at feigned-ignorance making me chuckle. "You've got to be blind not to see that they're both in love with each other."

"I refuse to get involved," he said stubbornly, squeezing his eyes shut. "I've only got a bit of hair left and I would like to keep it that way. Keeping track of their arguments is stressful enough." He paused, and then added on in a dark voice, "Though, I think Hermione may have over-stepped the line by taking McLaggen tonight."

"How come?" I asked nonchalantly, resisting the urge to bang my head repeatedly against the wall for making such a bad, bad choice when it came to Hermione's date. Of all the boys in Hogwarts I had to choose the one everyone seemed to hate.

"Hermione kind of invited Ron to Slughorn's first."

"That was before he was going out with Lavender though, right?"

"Yeah, but still, Hermione _hates_ McLaggen. I hate McLaggen." We turned onto a corridor that led to a flight of stairs, and the Curious-Ginnys in my head took control.

"Why do you all hate him so much?" I asked, trying and failing to sound casual. I couldn't imagine anyone mistaking the Boy-Who-Lived's name, so there must have been another reason.

"He accused me of favouritism at Quidditch tryouts when I picked Ron as Keeper," he explained, and I repressed the impulse to turn around, charge right up to McLaggen and hit him forcefully over the head with more than just a fishtail. "And he reckoned that you went easy on him, and that was the only reason he caught your shot."

"What?" I demanded, my fingers curling into fists. "I was worried enough about getting on the team myself. I didn't have the mental capacity to even consider going easy on Ron."

"I know, I know. McLaggen's just a sore loser," he told me soothingly. We were descending a flight of stairs when Harry added on, "and there was no need for you to worry, Ginny. You're a really good Quidditch player."

His eyes met mine, the soft smile painting his face making my heart literally exploded into squeals of joy and begin to cartwheel all over my lungs, making my breathing shallow. My skin tingled and my lips smiled and my eyes sunk into Harry's and my toes curled and everything else faded away and then –

"Shit!" The hazy trance that had descended on us shattered instantly when I lunged forward, my foot sinking through a gap where the stair had previously been. My hand shot out to steady myself on the banister while my cheeks erupted into flames. Of all the times I could have forgotten to skip the Vanishing Step I had to do it when Harry and I were having what some would undoubtedly describe as a 'moment'. A moment that would probably never come around again. Why the Hell was I punished with two left feet and an unfortunate habit for falling over in front of Harry? Maybe somebody up there wanted to destroy my life, you know, just for kicks.

If I hadn't already died inside then I sure had now.

"Here," Harry offered when my attempts at tugging my foot out of the hole failed. He put one of my hands on his shoulder to balance me, while his hands wrapped around my calf and pulled upwards.

He was saying something to me, but my ears had stopped working. They were too busy screaming along with the rest of me. I was touching Harry. Harry was touching me. Touching. _Physical contact_! Oh Merlin oh Merlin oh Merlin...

I tried to inhale discreetly, knowing that if I held my breath any longer I would collapse all over Harry. Not that the thought of him carrying me back to the Common Room was unpleasant, but I didn't want to risk another dosage of Pepper-Up from Pomfrey (whatever the injury, that woman _always_reached for either the Pepper-Up or the Skele-Gro, the two foulest tasting medicines in the history of foul tasting medicines. Perhaps she did it to scare people from coming back?)

Finally the stair gave me my foot back and Harry straightened up, his face red.

"Are you okay?" he asked, and I could barely squeeze out a 'mhm' in reply. His face grew steadily redder and the corners of his mouth upturned. I sighed heavily.

"You can laugh."

"I'm sorry, Ginny," he chuckled, his mouth splitting into a grin. "You can't deny that that was funny."

"Shut up," I grumbled, though his chuckles seemed to be infectious. "Stupid Vanishing Step."

"Don't worry, Ginny. It gets even the best of us."

We reached the Fat Lady, who eyed us suspiciously and then whispered something to her friend, Vi, who giggled in return. We clambered through the Portrait Hole, the half empty Common Room seeming wonderfully familiar after Slughorn's stuffy office.

Seamus was snoozing in a squishy couch by the fire, his mouth hanging open. Harry motioned for me to be quiet as he crept towards him, swiping a pillow from a separate couch as he passed. In one swift motion he brought the pillow down and whacked Seamus in the face with a satisfying 'thud'.

"The mermaid stole my sickles!" Seamus yelped, straightening up instantly. Harry roared with laughter and I couldn't help but chuckle as I dropped into an armchair opposite him. "Whussagoingon?" He grumbled blearily, forcing his eyes open.

"Where's Ruth?" I asked in return. Harry leaned over the back of the couch, looking adorably suave and sexy. I tried my best not to drool.

"She went off with that lad from your year..." he replied, yawning widely. Despite his all-but-specific description it wasn't hard to figure out who she'd 'went off with'.

"Jayson?"

"That's the one."

I grinned to myself, feeling a lot more content now I was back in the Common Room. Though, that could've had something to do with the boy standing in front of me (and I was _not_ talking about Seamus).

"Where's Ron?" Harry asked.

"You need to ask?" Seamus snorted, answering anyway, "Him and Lavender disappeared over an hour ago. Where's Dean?"

"Still at the party. He was talking to Romilda," I replied, slumping back onto the pillows. Seamus snorted, mimicking my gesture. There was a heavy silence, in which all three of us pondered the whereabouts of our best friends. After a while, Seamus sat up again.

"Anyone fancy a game of Exploding Snap?" He rummaged into his pocket, extracting a pack of singed playing cards. I had grown weary of Exploding Snap after the Eyebrow-Singing-And-Partial-Baldness incident of '91, but then I saw Harry shrug. He sat down next to Seamus, holding out his hand.

"I'll deal," he quipped, and then he turned his skin-tingling-smile onto me. "Are you in?"

I looked from him to Seamus, dozens of meaningless questions running through my head. What would Ruth say if she knew who I was spending my Thursday night with? Had Luna made it back from her trip around the grounds with her Vampire buddy with the same amount of blood she'd started off with? Why hadn't Slughorn served caramelized pineapple at the party? What if I burnt all of my hair off again? I twisted a lock of my fiery hair around my fingers, contemplating it. I looked up and smiled. I'd never been one for physical appearances anyway.

"Sure. I'm in."

* * *

**A/N: WOOP H/G fun :) And before you ask, _no_this didn't happen in the book but, as great as JK Rowling is, she didn't give me many H/G moments to work with. So I'm having to make a few up myself :) I have a couple of things to say in this Author's Note, so get ready:**

**1) I'm genuinely sorry about this chapter. I don't really know what's going on with it :)**

**2) I can't remember whether Hermione _did_guilt-trip Harry and Ron into going to Nick's Deathday party, and I can't check because I have misplaced my COS books. I do have some vague recollections of her making them go though. Am I right?**

**3) As any of you who have looked at my profile in the last three weeks will know, I now have a 'Stories' section on it, which I'll update reguarly with, well, _updates_ on how the chapter's going. So if I haven't updated in a while then pop on over to my profile and there will probably be some half-hearted excuse as to why not :)**

**4) I know I've been slacking on my review replies lately but I had six exams last week alone and no time whatsoever to reply to them :/ I did read them all though! And I do appreciate them so much :) I will reply to them in due course, and I'm sorry if you get more than one because I can't actually remember which ones I have and haven't replied to :)**

**5) HARRY POTTER AND THE HALF-BLOOD PRINCE COMES OUT IN THIRTY-SEVEN DAYS, TWO HOURS, EIGHTEEN MINUTES AND 24 SECONDS! Je suis uber excited :D**

**6) Also, because I'm generally curious and I haven't yet figured out the mechanics of a 'poll' I wanted to ask: _Which 'The Monster In Her Chest' chapter has been your favourite so far? _Review, PM, email me with your answer :) I'd like to know :)**

**Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaand that's all from me :) As usual, I'd appreciate any reviews, and I hope you enjoyed this rather dysfunctional chapter :)**

**- SprayPaintedShoes**


	17. Chapter 17: Go, Evil Carrot, Go!

**A/N**:** Yes! Another chapter! My laptop has been playing up lately and not letting me log on for days at a time, so that's this chapter's excuse :) But anyway, enjoy!**

**_Disclaimer: All of it belongs to JKR, especially the beginning bit of the Percy scene :)_**

* * *

Chapter 17 – Go, Evil Carrot, Go!

"Ugh, zis room is so small."

Phlegm prodded the camp bed with the disgust of a person poking a sack full of left over banana skins and spinach. I bit back a growl.

"I like it." I hoped my tongue wouldn't turn black at the blatant lie – I wasn't sure Harry would like that. Then again, I'd rather have a black tongue than a long nose. Then again, both could've been avoided by telling the truth, though I couldn't bring myself to agree with Phlegm. Agreeing with Phlegm was like telling Draco his prematurely receding hairline was sexy.

"It iz so cold. Zese walls are like paper." Phlegm shivered over-exaggeratedly and I resisted the urge to throw my pillow at her petite little face.

"Don't sleep here if you don't like it."

"Where elze am I meant to zleep?" she demanded, flouncing around in a circle so vicious that her hair whipped around and knocked Arnold right off the shelf and onto my stomach. He squealed, digging his little nails into my jumper.

"The shed?"

Phlegm let out a bell like laugh. "You are zo funny, Ginny."

"Right. I'm going downstairs." I hopped up off the bed, letting Arnold crawl up onto my shoulder. I scowled as I left the room, storming down the stairs and into the kitchen.

Phlegm had been in my room for ten minutes and already I was ready to rip out my hair and gouge out my eyeballs with quills. Sharp quills. To be quite honest, Phlegm was going to end up sneaking into Bill's room anyway (I refused to acknowledge what they would be doing in there), so why bother even letting her step foot in my room?

I stormed into the living room, where Mum was waving her wand at Christmas decorations and singing softly to the radio.

"Oh, hello, dear," she sang. I muttered something unintelligible and utterly teenage-angst like, adding in a pout for good measure. My Mum, who was thoroughly used to the expressions of teenage drama queens/kings having brought six of them up previously, merely sighed.

"I'm sure you can manage sharing your room with Fleur for two weeks, Ginny."

"Mum, all she's done since she's moved in is complain!" I stormed, putting on a false French accent as I mocked, "zis room eez too small, zis room eez too cold, zis room smellz like chickens!"

"It does smell like chickens, Ginny. When was the last time you polished it?"

"That's not the point!" I objected angrily, glaring at a miniature stocking lying on the table. This particular one had a large and wobbly 'Ronald' scrawled over the top, a product of many days of boredom induced Christmas-tree-decoration-making from our younger years. "Why can't she sleep on the couch? Or, better yet, outside?"

"I'm not having anyone sleeping on the couch," mum replied stiffly, draping tinsel rather haphazardly over the crooked tree. "What kind of mother do you think I am?"

"One who should understand my pain!"

"Oh, don't be so melodramatic, Ginny. It's fourteen days."

"But it's Christmas!"

"A time for giving," Mum pointed out smugly, and I cursed under my breath.

"So _give_ me a break and make Phlegm sleep somewhere else!"

"Oh, do be quiet, Ginny. Don't you have anything else to do than sit here complaining?" she asked. Right now my options were:

1) Go upstairs and talk to Phlegm,

2) Remain in the living room whining about Phlegm,

3) Go outside and try to find Phlegm a suitable place to sleep.

All three options were equally un-fun, contained an excess of Phlegm and could cause death by snowballs. I shuddered, and then shook my head.

"Nope."

"Here." Mum shoved mess of different coloured paper into my arms, topping it off with a glue stick and a pair of scissors. "Make some Christmas decorations."

"You know, mum," I started as I plonked the paraphernalia onto the coffee table, careful not to stab myself with the scissors like I'd been threatening to do all afternoon. "One of these days you're going to have to find another way to combat boredom. Christmas tree decorations aren't always the answer."

I even had memories of constructing miniature Father Christmases in July, with the windows thrown open and the sun burning my neck.

"Would you rather clean the chicken coop?" Mum asked pointedly. I blanched – the chickens seemed to have some sort of chicken-like vendetta against me, and I was sure if I stepped foot in that coop I'd be pelted with eggs and strung upside down from the rafters before I could so much as cluck.

"But then again, who doesn't love making Christmas decorations?"

Mum gave me a look that said 'I've trained you well', accompanied with a satisfied smirk. She stalked out of the room, no doubt to start on dinner, and I stared down at the obnoxiously orange paper in front of me. What Christmassy things were orange? What Christmassy things could I make that we didn't already have thousands of?

I scrutinized the paper. I could make a carrot. A Father-Christmas-hat-wearing-carrot, with little black booties and a sack full of other vegetables. But who likes eating vegetables at Christmas? Perhaps the Father-Christmas-Hat-Wearing-Carrot (now capitalised) was an evil carrot, intent on taking over Christmas with greenish, technically healthy vengeance. He (or she) could have little sprout minions and ride around in a Parsnip-mobile and fire balls of stuffing at the poor Christmas Candy Canes.

I grinned to myself, fanning out several sheets of orange, red, yellow and green paper in my hand.

"Ugh," I heard a voice say from the doorway, and before I had the chance to make a speedy exit through the window, Phlegm flounced into the room. "I 'ope you are not making paper-chains. Zey are so tacky and 'orrible."

_Go, evil carrot, go!_

When the pieces of paper in my hands failed to materialise into destructive vegetables intent on annihilating Phlegm, I sighed, throwing the traitors back down onto the table.

"Actually, that's exactly what I'm doing."

"Surely you would razzer decorate ze sitting area in tinsel, not ugly pieces of paper?"

"I happen to like ugly pieces of paper. And, at any rate, I'm the one holding the scissors." I snapped then so they swished threateningly. Phelgm's eyes widened and she backed slowly from the room, breaking into a run when she reached the kitchen.

I suppose I had no choice but to make a paper-chain now. Plus, the Father-Christmas-Hat-Wearing-Carrot had failed me, and I had an inkling that it was working with the chickens. I already had poultry and butter against me; I didn't need vegetables trying to kill me too.

I picked up a piece of red paper, using the scissors to snip it into several long pieces. I continued until I had a large pile of shredded paper covering my knees, feet and the surrounding area. Arnold's muffled squeak came from under a pile of pink paper, but from the following trill I guessed he was enjoying himself.

I looped a piece of green paper, dabbed the ends with glue and pressed them together. Once I got started I found that the rhythm was oddly comforting.

Weave, glue, stick. Weave, glue, stick. Weave, glue, stick.

I was busy weaving and gluing and sticking when another arrival into the cramped living room interrupted me.

"Hi, Ginny." Harry sat in the sofa opposite, smiling at me. While my mouth went dry my brain pounded against my skull and yelled at me to _say something, you bloody idiot! _

"Uh, hi," I replied intelligently, accidentally gluing my fingers together instead of the paper. "Where's Ron?"

"I think he was looking for Bill. Something about relationship advice."

We both shuddered.

"Bill will be pleased," I commented. Bill would be pissed and Fred and George would laugh their self-ironed socks off.

"I told him not to do it," Harry admitted, raising his hands in a 'hey, I'm not the one to blame here, the idiot who's going to your brother for tips on how to woo the girl he's obviously only going out with to make his seemingly oblivious best friend jealous is the one you should be pointing the finger at' way. "Are you making a paper-chain?"

"Yeah." I held the long chain of looped paper up for him to see, shaking it slightly.

"It's nice."

"Phlegm said it was ugly," I said, scrutinising Harry's face. A small part of me had to admit to hoping Harry would declare his undying hatred for Phlegm because she had insulted my paper-chain. However, Harry merely frowned, his eyebrows scrunching together.

"It's not ugly."

"Thanks."

A silence followed, in which Harry tapped a jaunty tune on his knees and I wove, glued and stuck several more times.

"Do you need any help?" Harry asked finally, breaking my pattern.

"Uh," I said stupidly while my brain banged its head against my skull, killing several of the brain cells that would probably have helped me answer his question.

"I don't have to, if you don't want me to..." He trailed off, looking instantly sheepish. The blossoming red on his cheeks made me blurt out,

"No! I mean, yes. Sure. I'd like it if you helped me." I gestured to the paper in front of me. "What you do is you loop the paper and stick the ends together, then loop another piece of paper through an stick those ends together, and then keep going on like that until –"

"I know how to make a paper-chain, Ginny," Harry said, smirking a smirk that would have made my knees buckle, had I not been sitting down. "We used to do them all of the time in Primary School."

"Right," I replied. I grinned; his smirk seemed to have sparked off Confident Ginny, who shoved Shy, Spluttering Ginny to the side. "How about you start at that end, I continue with this and we'll meet in the middle, say, two-ish?"

Harry's laugh could have made Angels swoon. In fact, I'm sure I heard some exhaled breaths from above me. Though, that could have just been Phlegm. "It's a date."

Oh, good Merlin. Harry. Date. Harry involving date in a sentence. Harry involving date in a sentence aimed towards me. Sure, a cramped lounge littered with Christmas Decorations and old cauldrons didn't quite fit the general trend, but if Harry thought it was a date then, Heck, who was I to disagree with the Chosen One?

"So, Fleur's sleeping in your room?" Harry asked after a while.

"Unfortunately." I paused, frowning. "How did you know?"

"I heard your mum talking about it this morning. How's it going for you?" He was looking at his fingers which, I had to admit, were quite the weave-glue-stick-ers.

"If I survive the next two weeks I'll let you know," I quipped in reply, though I wasn't quite sure if I was joking anymore. If Phlegm turned out to be a sleep-talker then there was no doubt that I would suffocate myself with my own pillow.

"So," I announced after a pause, "who's the next Quidditch match against?"

"Hufflepuff," he replied, picking up several strips of yellow paper just to clarify.

"I can't wait to smash Zacharias Smith's face in," I said savagely, practically purring with malicious glee that no doubt made me look like a psychotic ginger cat. Kind of like Crookshanks when he sees Neville's toad.

"Hey," Harry said, his voice morphing into Captain-Mode so quickly it was like someone had flicked on an over-sized, elekital switch. "I'd leave the face-smashing to the Bludgers. You need to concentrate on getting the Quaffle past their Keeper."

"So I can't throw the Quaffle at his squished, piggy face?" I asked innocently, batting my eyelashes a couple of times in a gesture I'd learnt from Ruth. She was a pro at it. She could make sour milk ooze creamy goodness, or whatever.

Harry paused momentarily, blinking, and then cleared his throat. "Nope, I don't think that would be a good idea."

"How about smashing his ears in with a Beaters Bat?" I weaved a hopeful lip twitch with the eyelash-batting, a gesture I'd seen Ruth practising in the mirror from time to time.

"The Beaters need their bats."

"Pushing him off his broom?"

"Could be fatal. Better not do any permanent damage."

"Setting the end of his broom on fire," I concluded, grinning to myself.

"Do you want the fire brigade on us?" he quizzed, the corners of his lips twitching. I had no idea was a fire bee-gade was, and the only image that sprung to mind was several burning bees soaring towards Smith's pudgy face. In which case, the fire bee-gade wasn't such a bad idea.

"How about Confunding him so he can't do anything?" I tried hopefully, twirling a green strip of paper between my fingers.

"Already been done."

"What?"

"Never mind."

"So basically," I concluded, releasing my end of the paper-chain. It pooled at my feet on the ground with a loud _swoosh_-ing sound. "I'm not allowed to hurt Zacharias Smith in any way whatsoever?"

"Not physically. You _can_ make sure we win so badly that his pride is crushed forever, though. And, to be honest, Smith's not much of a looker, is he? I think his pride is all he has."

Harry's devious smile made me grin. So I couldn't bash Smith's face in, but I could beat him so badly he would be nothing more than a quivering mush of sludge on a broomstick by the end of the match.

"I think I like that idea."

"Good," Harry replied, smiling once more. "We should have no problem beating Hufflepuff, anyway."

"Confident, aren't we?" I mocked, picking up the scissors to snip more paper. Arnold began to roll around on a pile of purple strips, squee-ing loudly at the fun he was having with his paper-brothers.

"With the team we've got, there's no reason not to be," he joked in reply, sticking his nose up proudly so his glasses slid upwards. In that second, Harry looked more feminine that he had ever looked in his life. And yet, he was still the most beautiful being I had ever seen in my life. Gay or not, Harry was damned sexy. Yes, _sexy_.

"I just hope Katie gets better soon," he added on as an after-thought, his teeth biting his lip. Visions filled my head of _me_ biting that lip and I began to feel woozy.

"What, Dean not good enough for you?" I managed to choke out, trying to concentrate on my paper-chain rather than on Harry's perfectly delectable lips.

"Of course he is," he replied defensively, his tongue poking out as he untangled a couple of paper-links. The visions in my head got a whole lot more graphic, and I had to clutch on to the sofa cushions to stop myself from fainting. "It's just, for the six years I've been on the team, Katie's always been there. It's just – weird, without her."

"Without who?"

Ron charged into the room, brushing past the Christmas tree on the way in and sending several ornaments tinkling to the ground.

"Katie not being on the Quidditch team," Harry replied, looking up at his best friend. I had managed to regain consciousness by that time, though I made sure to look everywhere besides Harry's mouth.

"Oh, right," Ron replied, but his attention was distracted. He was frowning down at the paper-chain in Harry's fingers. "Why are you making a paper-chain?"

"Why not?" Harry replied defensively, clutching the paper-links closer to his chest. I knew how he felt; I too had felt an attachment to many of my paper-chains, often feeling heart broken when the time for pulling them down came. I smiled admiringly at Harry – I liked a man with sensitivity. Though not too much sensitivity. Micheal Corner had sobbed for a week when I'd refused to get a tattoo that said 'I HEART MIKEY' inked across my forehead.

"Because you look like an old woman," Ron commented. I snorted – ever since Ron had hooked up with Lavender he had gotten awfully big headed, especially for a lanky ginger with freckles and a brain the size of a dung beetle's. "Mum wants us to come and peel some sprouts, anyway."

"But we just did some this morning!" Harry protested.

"I know. Apparently she has more. That woman likes her sprouts."

"Right." Harry got up, piles of paper spilling off his knees and onto the floor. He looked at me, smirking slightly. "You reckon you'll be okay without me for a bit?"

"I'll manage," I quipped in reply, returning his grin as he and Ron left the room.

I continued with my weave-glue-stick-ing. I had nothing else to do, and a small part of me hoped that if I carried on Harry would come back soon and help me again. I scowled – damn sprouts taking my future-husband away. You upset one Father-Christmas-Hat-Wearing-Carrot and you get the whole greenery bunch against you.

"Where eez Bill?"

"Merlin's –" The expression 'jumped out of my skin', however disgusting the mental images were, was entirely appropriate for that moment. Phlegm had slunk in without me noticing, and then in her loudest (and French-est) voice, demanded to know where her fiancé was.

"I don't know," I replied, patting my chest in an attempt to restart my heart.

"Well, 'ave you zeen 'im?" she asked impatiently, drumming her foot on the floor so vigorously that the paper strips shook and Arnold went bouncing across the carpet.

"Not since this morning, no." I looked determinedly down at my paper-chain.

"Do you know where 'ee will be?"

"Nope."

"Well, someone must know."

"Well I don't." My hands worked furiously, punching the paper together and stabbing the glue stick in a way that should be illegal. I tried to concentrate on the paper-chain and not on Phlegm.

_Weave, glue, stick. Weave, glue, stick._

Phlegm began to pace, or rather, flounce the length of the room, tossing her hair back like an angry horse. "I need to speak to 'im! Ze wedding caterer 'as just called and said 'ee will not do salmon! We need to zink of something else, quickly!"

Rather than point out that the wedding was eight months away, no one liked salmon anyway and I really _didn't care_, I continued to work.

_Weave, glue, stick. Weave glue stick._

"Molly suggested ze lamb mais my guests cannot 'ave lamb in ze summer!"

_Weave, glue, stick. Must, kill, Phlegm. Must, kill, Phlegm._

"And besides, ze salmon went much better avec ze colour scheme! My food cannot be _brown_!"

"Shouldn't you be telling Bill this?" I demanded finally, after much internal death chanting. Phlegm stopped and rounded on me, her eyes wild and her hair fizzing, kind of like Hermione's.

"I would eef I could find 'im! Unfortunately, none of his family seem to know where 'ee iz!"

"Where who is?" Fred strolled into the room, followed shortly by George. They were both sporting identical blue jumpers and had a kind of 'oh yes, I iron my _own_ socks now' air about them.

"Bill!" Phlegm screeched. I resisted the temptation to ask her if she was descended from banshees too, because I knew she would probably strangle me. I valued my neck. And my life.

"He was just outside talking to Ron," George replied, and Fred sniggered. Phlegm gave a dramatic sigh and pranced from the room, huffing and puffing enough to make her sound like a wheezy chimney.

"Merlin, Ginny," Fred started, looking down at the floor.

"Are you planning on decorating the lounge," George continued, and then they both finished together,

"Or the whole of Hogwarts?"

"You do know it creeps people out when you do that 'finishing each other's sentences' thing, don't you?" I wondered whether they rehearsed, because no sane people can be that in time with each other. But then again, I suppose 'sane' was the giveaway, there.

"That's why we do it," Fred quipped, winking.

"But seriously Ginny, you could wrap that paper-chain around Hogwarts a hundred times and still have some left over."

I looked down at the floor. Sure enough, every inch was covered with loops of paper. Fred was on his tiptoes, edging around the chains and George had just cleared some space on the couch next to me.

"I, uh, suppose I got carried away," I said, placing the end of the chain onto the floor. My fingers twitched at the absence of movement, so I flexed them a couple of times. The way I was going, I was going to end up suffering paper-chain withdrawal symptoms. I wondered if they had a paper-chain rehab.

"You can say that again," George and Fred both chimed in unison, rolling their eyes.

* * *

You know how, on Christmas morning, you're meant to wake up to the sound of birdsong, the feeling of anticipation in your belly that's screaming at you 'oh my Merlin, it's Christmas!', the smell of roasting chestnuts and the weight of a stuffed stocking over the end of your bed? How you're meant to feel totally content and happy?

This year, it didn't quite go like that for me. Instead, I woke up to this:

"... and in ze middle of ze night I could 'ere the chickens rustling! Do zey never zleep? And zere was an 'orrible draft coming through ze window. Bill knows 'ow delicate my skin iz, and 'ow even ze smallest of chills can leave me full ov cold for weeks. Tonight I zink I will require an extra blanket..."

I groaned and rolled over, trying in vain to block Phlegm's chatter out with my pillow. I wondered vaguely, and rather sleepily, what Bill would say if I duck-taped Phlegm's mouth shut. Perhaps he would find it an improvement, too.

However, come Christmas lunch (which I had been looking forward to for weeks – my mum's potatoes were out of this world) I had perked up. Whether it was the heavenly smell of roast turkey or my family's infectious happiness, I couldn't help but grin as I picked cutlery out of the drawer.

"Nice jumper, Ginny," Remus said as he placed a bowl of stuffing on the table. I grinned at him, looking down at my bright yellow jumper, which had a large, purple Arnold knitted into the front.

"Thanks. The same to you."

Phlegm looked appropriately pissed, being the only one without a beautiful hand-made jumper besides my Mum. Whatever chances she had had of receiving a present had been brutally destroyed last night, following her terrible Celestina Warbeck expression.

Fred and George strolled down the stairs and plonked themselves onto the table, followed shortly by Harry, who was chuckling at a scowling Ron.

"Come on, come on," Mum fluttered, flapping around the table with plates and Yorkshire puddings and all other mouth-watering foods. "Sit down."

I attached my butt to a seat before realising that I was actually sat opposite Harry. He was helping himself to potatoes, and I was free to ogle him without looking too suspicious.

His hair was kind of I've-just-got-out-of-bed tousled, and his glasses were slipping down his nose. His green sweater made his eyes shine and I had to smash carrots into my mouth to stifle my swoon.

"Is that a new necklace, mum?" Bill asked as he passed Dad the sprouts. I eyed them suspiciously – Christmas or not, I knew how long sprouts could hold grudges.

"Yes," Mum replied, grinning.

"I like your hat, too," I added, watching the sparkles glitter off my glass of orange juice. Mum beamed, practically glowing with happiness.

"Fred and George gave them to me! Aren't they beautiful?"

"Well, we find we appreciate you more and more, Mum, now we're washing our own socks. Parsnips, Remus?"

Harry laughed softly, and I looked up at him. I frowned – his hair looked wrong. There was something small, white and wriggly – well, wriggling in his hair. Was that - ? Eugh, Harry had a maggot in his hair! A real life slimy maggot.

The way I saw it, I had two options:

Reach forward and take the slimy, filthy maggot out of his hair,

Ignore the maggot and the perfectly presented chance to run my fingers through his delectable locks because I was too scared of a stupid little worm.

I looked longingly at his beautiful hair for a couple of seconds. Screw hygiene, I could deal with a maggot.

"Harry, you've got a maggot in your hair."

My hand seemed to stretch across the table too slowly for my liking, and I feared that Harry might duck out of the way and remove the maggot himself. Finally, my hand reached his head and my fingers wound around his unruly locks. I let my hand linger for a second before I plucked the maggot out and threw it over my shoulder.

Oh, Merlin. I would have picked out all of the maggots in the world, just to be able to feel Harry's hair again.

"'Ow 'orrible," said Phlegm. I scowled at her – Harry's hair was not ''orrible'! I could think of many ways to describe Harry's hair – fantastic, luscious, heavenly, exquisite, divine... but not horrible.

Ron knocked over a gravy boat and I snorted loudly. He scowled at me, his face red like a tomato. I grinned back.

Phlegm began to insult Tonks. I opened my mouth to tell her that Tonks was twice the woman she would ever be, and I'd much rather have a clumsy, pink-haired Auror for a sister-in-law than a snotty, vain –

But then Harry stretched his legs slightly, and the side of his calf brushed across mine. Goosebumps erupted everywhere and shivers wracked my body. I clutched my orange juice glass and sucked in cupfuls of juice, hoping to disguise my shallow breathing and shaky hands.

What was happening to me? Whenever Dean touched me I didn't break out into spastic shivers of joy and lose the ability to speak. Yet, just one _look_ from Harry and I couldn't breathe. It wasn't natural.

"Hey... it couldn't be -?"

"Arthur!" My head snapped up to my Mum's. She was staring out of the window, her hand clutching her chest as if she expected her heart to jump out of it and go skipping down the road hand-in-hand with the wellington boots. "Arthur – it's Percy!"

What in the name of Merlin's hairy back? Percy?!

I stood up, peering through the window to get a better view. Sure enough, Percy was strutting towards the house (how a complete nerd wearing horn-rimmed glasses could have enough confidence to _strut_ was beneath me) and hobbling next to him was – oh, no.

"Arthur, he's – he's with the Minister!"

They approached the door too quickly for me to come up with a cunning plan to halt the impeding danger, and then Percy was standing in the doorway.

"Merry Christmas, Mother."

I scowled as my mother threw herself at Percy, narrowing my eyes at his stiff face. I smelled a rat, and I was pretty sure this rat was wearing horn-rimmed glasses.

"You must forgive this intrusion." I looked towards the new Minister of Magic, frowning at his long grey hair. Sure, Dumbledore suited the whole beard-tucked-into-the-belt do, but Scrimgeour merely looked like a half lion, half Billy-goat. "Percy and I were in the vicinity – working, you know – and he couldn't resist dropping in and seeing you all."

Yeah, and I'm Kreacher's uncle. Percy had had the chance to 'drop in and see us' for the past year and a half, and he'd done no such thing. Whatever this old coot was selling, I wasn't buying it – Percy wasn't here out of his own choice.

My Mum, however, seemed oblivious to this fact that the rest of my family had grasped so easily. She began to babble something about Tooding (I made a mental note not to touch whatever she was serving for dessert) and then she kissed Percy again, who's face remained poker straight.

I was so busy glaring at my ex-brother that I didn't hear the next few sentences, but I did notice the sudden change in the atmosphere. I could have easily lifted my butter knife and sliced through the air it was so thick with tension. But why?

"Yeah, all right," said Harry, and then he rose to his feet. All right, what? Why were my ears so damned lazy? He followed Scrimgeour into the garden, and I then understood _exactly_ what was going on.

Scrimgeour had used Percy to come to The Burrow. Scrimgeour knew Harry would be at The Burrow. Scrimgeour wanted to talk to Harry privately. At The Burrow.

"It's fine," Harry said quietly as he left the kitchen. "Fine."

"It most certainly isn't fine," I heard Fred mutter when the door had closed behind the two. I sat down slowly, still glaring at Percy.

"Oh, Perce, we've all wanted to see you for so long," Mum started tearfully. Fred, George and Ron's mouths dropped open with mine, and I heard the word 'all?' echoed many times around the table. "Sit down and have some food."

"I have no intention of staying, Mother. You know that," Percy replied stonily, looking down at the table with a snobby sort of distaste. My mum recoiled as if she'd been slapped, and I opened my mouth to tell him what a worthless toe rag he was, but Phlegm interrupted me.

"Your muzzer 'as slaved away to make zis wonderful food and you turn your nose down at it when she offers it to you? 'Ow rude!"

My mouth dropped so low I swear I could feel the cold floor tiles beneath my chin. Percy glared down at her, and then asked snootily,

"And who are you?"

"I," Phlegm replied, drawing herself up to her full height, "am Fleur Delacour, your bruzzer's fiancé. If you 'ad spent even an ounce of time wiz your family over ze last year, zen you might 'av known 'oo I was!"

Okay, I think everyone's chins were dusting the floor at that point. Percy was looking at Fleur with a mixture of awe, shock and fright, and I didn't blame him. Fleur angry was a scary sight.

"Fleur, there's no need –" Mum started, tears dripping down her face. My fist curled around my wand as anger flared like a flame inside of me. I was going to hex Percy _so_ hard even the ends of his frizzy ginger hair (not red – only Weasleys have red hair) would feel pain.

"Zer 'iz, Molly. 'Ee az acted very disrespectfully toward 'iz family." Okay, either we had entered some kind of seventh dimensional world or Fleur had had a visit from her own Scroogy-ghosts last night, because she was actually being _decent_. Even better than that, she was being _nice_ to us.

"I don't think you have any right to admonish me –" Percy flared up instantly, but Bill cut across him.

"What do you want, Percy?"

"The Minister needed to have a word with Harry, and I –"

"So you didn't come all of this way to see us? You came because you had to," George stated blandly. Percy's face snapped in Fred and George's direction, and his brow furrowed in distaste.

"I heard you dropped out of school. It seems I was true."

"We heard you were still a wanker," Fred replied without missing a beat.

"It seems we were true," George finished. I resisted the urge to cry 'hear hear!' and instead channelled my anger into smushing parsnip and carrots under my fork.

"Boys, don't..." Mum trailed off feebly, still crying silently.

"We're sorry for swearing, Mum, but there's really no other way to put it," Fred replied, still glaring at Poopy-Prat-Percy.

"Would you rather we called him a toe rag? A slimy little git?"

"An ass hole?" I put in helpfully, and I heard Ron snigger.

"If I'd have known you were going to be so rude," Percy started, but Dad surprised me by laughing loudly.

"You wouldn't have come, Percy? Is that what you were going to say?" Dad had his arm nestled warmly around Mum, but his expression toward Percy was ice cold. "You would do anything if the Ministry asked you. You proved that already by turning against your family for a small slice of power."

"I have not turned against my family; I have merely decided not to follow your absurd beliefs. You choose Dumbledore, I choose the Ministry."

"You know he's back though," Ron objected. "You all know You-Know-Who's back. You're just too damned snobby to admit that you were wrong."

"You choose to follow a crack-pot fool and a boy who demands attention wherever he goes! The Ministry has known this all along – you can't deny that we were right about that! And as for turning against my family – if this family insists on involving themselves with people that drag it back then I have every right to sever my ties with you in order to build myself a worthy future!"

"A future without a family doesn't seem all too worthy to me," I intoned harshly, scowling at Percy. His body snapped towards mine, and then he sneered,

"Oh, be quiet, Ginevra."

Oh, no. He did _not_ just tell me to shut up _and_ call me Ginevra in the same sentence. I was an understanding person, but there were two things I would not tolerate.

"Excuse me," I objected, bringing my fork up to point it at Percy, for dramatic effect. However, when I flung it in his direction, a carrot-filled parsnip-mobile flew off the end of it and landed with a rather loud 'splat!' seconds later on the left lens of Percy's glasses.

There was a beat of shock-filled silence, and then with identical shouts of 'ha!' Fred and George flicked their own parsnip-carrot covered forks at Percy, leaving him with rather messy glasses.

There was another pause, and then, surprising _everyone_, Bill snorted loudly. Fleur began to giggle, and then a second later everyone (except for Remus and Dad, who had their hands pressed over their mouths to stifle their sniggers, and Mum, who was still crying) was laughing audibly.

"I can see this conversation is over," Percy said stonily, crossing his arms in an attempt to look serious, which, considering the state of his face, failed miserably.

"I'm surprised you can see anything with all that parsnip smushed over your glasses," Fred panted, wiping an imaginary tear from his eye. And despite the shock of his visit, my Mum's tears and the horror of Percy's words, we all broke into fresh pearls of laughter. I clutched my side, feeling like I was laughing for the first time in ages.

"I'll be leaving," Percy said finally, though I could hardly hear him over my giggles.

"Are you sure you don't want to take any more food with you?" George mocked, and then Ron finished,

"I'm sure there's enough room for some mashed potato on your glasses, too."

Percy turned on his heel and stormed out of the door, slamming it so hard behind him the glass seemed to shiver along with our giggles. Everyone was laughing too hard to hear it open again, but we definitely heard Harry's bemused voice ringing across the kitchen.

"What did I miss?"

* * *

**A/N: I actually had a lot of fun writing this chapter :) I do love Harry/Ginny. **

**I also have to apologise for my meaness to Seamus in Chapter 15. It's not that I don't like him - I _love_ him and all of his Irish ways - he just turned out that way :)**

**But on another more exciting note - HARRY POTTER AND THE HALF-BLOOD PRINCE MOVIE COMES OUT IN 10 DAYS, NINE HOURS, 42 MINUTES AND 20 SECONDS! (courtesy of Mugglenet :)) I'm so excited it's unreal :) I may not be able to squeeze another chapter out by that time (it's my summer and I intend to fill it with summer-like activities) so I hope you all have as much fun watching it as I will! :D**

**I realise I have fallen behind HORRIBLY on my review replying. I normally reply to every review, but I just haven't had the time lately. So, if you don't mind, I'm going to start afresh with any new reviews, because I can't remember which ones I have and haven't replied to :) I do appreciate ALL of them (and I mean that - they make me feel so happy and fuzzy and motivated), so drop me a word if you want to :)**

**Thanks again,**

**- SprayPaintedShoes**


	18. Chapter 18: Yes, Ginny, Benjamin

**A/N- I know, I know, I'm a crappy updater. Terribly crappy. The crappiest crappy updater. But I'm on holiday, and the decision between relaxing outside in the sun and being cooped up inside on a laptop is a hard choice, right?**

**_Disclaimer: Don't own it :)_**

* * *

**CHAPTER 18 - Yes Ginny, Benjamin.**

"And this was one of the steepest blue snow slopes you've ever seen—"

Seeing as the only coloured snow I'd ever seen was white (and occasionally yellow if Crookshanks had been near it beforehand), I didn't doubt that whatever Dean was talking about was the steepest blue slope I'd ever seen. I didn't even know you could get multicoloured snow. Maybe it was a French thing.

"But there was no other way out, so I snow ploughed down it—"

I stifled my yawn with my hand. I had, regretfully, declined Harry's invite to join him on the other side of the Common Room when we had left McGonagall's office, having promised Dean I'd meet him as soon as I got back to Hogwarts.

"But then I went over a patch of ice and slid onto a black slope. A black slope!"

All Dean had done, however, was throw random skiing lingo at me (what the Hell was a snow plough anyway? Sounded pretty dangerous to me), ignoring the fact that there was a chance I'd suffered a boredom induced death a good ten minutes ago.

"Isn't that great?"

That he was quite possibly conversing with a corpse? Not really. Still, I mumbled 'mhm' and continued to stare at the carpet.

"Ginny?"

"Yeah, Dean, that's great."

"Are you listening to me?"

"Snow plough – fantastic."

"Are you annoyed at me?"

I looked up at his half anxious, half annoyed face and sighed, pulling myself up so I wouldn't be mistaken for a dead body and hauled off to the infirmary.

"No," I replied. "It's just—I really have no idea what you're talking about. I've never been spleening before—"

"Skiing."

"Right. I've never been skiing before and while it all sounds fantastic—"

"You're not interested," Dean finished for me.

While what he said was true, it also sounded pretty harsh, so I stayed silent.

"So you aren't annoyed at me?"

"Nope," I answered truthfully, trying to drag my eyes off Harry, who was sitting near the fire. Dean—concentrate on Dean.

"But you didn't write to me over Christmas."

"Did you really think I'd send Pig all the way up a mountain? He has enough trouble getting to the owlery—he's been caught pooping in the Hufflepuff Common Room twice before."

Dean picked at the arm of the sofa we were sitting at. "I just thought you were annoyed at me, you know—"

I didn't.

"—after Slughorn's party."

He gave me a pointed look, and I blanched. Had he seen Harry and me walking back up to the Common Room? Had he sensed the chemistry between us? Because, mark my words, there had been chemistry! Oh dear Merlin, had he seen me fall over?

"Why?" I asked innocently.

"Well, you spent most of the night with McLaggen—"

I snorted loudly. True, McLaggen and I had had a _ball_that night. In fact, I was thinking of asking him out again... maybe inviting him to jump into the Black Lake with a rock tied to his leg while I stood on the shore. Cackling.

"Not out of choice," I objected. "I'd have much rather spent the night with you over listening to McLaggen sweat over Hermione and mispronounce my name."

I shuddered—the next time I saw McLaggen I was going to hex him so hard—

"And anyway," I said offhandedly when Dean frowned. "You spent the whole night with Romilda."

"Yeah, but Romilda's actually a decent person."

"Yeah, Romilda's an _angel_. I'm sure all of the bitching and scheming she does comes from the bottom of her heart. If she has a heart, that is."

"At least Romilda doesn't swagger around the school with her broomstick over her shoulder," Dean argued back.

"That's because Romilda's too stupid to hold and broomstick and walk at the same time," I retorted, and then added, "at least McLaggen doesn't thrust his boobs out whenever something with functioning male parts walks past."

"That's because McLaggen doesn't have boobs," said Dean.

Hardly believing that we were arguing over our accidental-Slughorn's-Party-dates, I replied 'I wouldn't be so sure' and raised my eyebrows, just for effect.

Dean sighed, obviously sensing defeat, and gave up. I allowed myself a small victory smile and jig before I melted into Dean's side.

"Just as long as you aren't annoyed at me," he said finally, and I shook my head.

"I'm not."

"Good."

He leaned down, and only seconds after his lips had touched mine a loud voice interrupted us.

"Dean and Ginny, sitting in a tree, K-I-S-S-I-N-G."

"Shut up, Ruth," I said without looking up, recognizing the voice at once as the one that usually yelled at me to wake up every morning and asked to copy my homework. Dean pulled away with a small groan and glared at my best friend, who was standing in front of us, hands on her hips, grinning smugly.

"Seamus is over there, lover boy. He wants to talk to you."

Dean struggled to his feet and yawned.

"Thanks, Ruth," he said, a little disgruntled. "I'll see you later, Ginny?"

I nodded once and Dean traipsed away to find his Irish partner-in-crime.

"Thanks for that, Ruth."

"It's all a part of the job," she replied simply, plonking down onto the now vacant seat next to me, her brown hair tumbling over her shoulders.

"Fine. I'm firing you."

"You can't," she said, grinning as she held up an imaginary piece of parchment between her perfectly polished thumb and forefinger. "I've got a five year contract."

"Five years?" I groaned, and she swatted my arm.

"So how are you and lover boy doing?" she asked conversationally, and I shrugged.

"Fine. Speaking of lover boys—" I grinned evilly—revenge is as sweet as the treacle in my Mother's perfectly baked tarts. "How's Jayson?"

She sniffed in an 'I don't know what you're talking about' kind of way, and then just to make herself perfectly clear, added on, "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Oh, come on," I teased, nudging her in the ribs like an annoying little nudging-gnome. "Don't tell me you haven't spent the last three weeks pining over him." I slapped a dramatic hand to my forehead and sighed in an almost perfect imitation of Phlegm. "Oh, Jayson, I wish you were here. My heart pangs for you when we dance together in my dreams..."

"Ssh!" Ruth replied frantically, her eyes scanning the Common Room. "He might hear you!"

"He's not here though."

"Spies!" she hissed, looking like a deranged Fudge crossed with a slightly crazy Trelawney. "Spies, everywhere!"

"I really don't think Jayson is the kind of person who would employ _spies_ just to, you know, _spy_ on you."

"You never know," Ruth replied conspiratorially, and I was instantly reminded of the carrots. Ignoring the strong impulse to check my bag and trunk for stowaway sprouts that might try and infect my socks with some sort of potato-disease, I changed the subject.

"So, how was your Christmas?"

"Alright," she replied, pulling several books out of her bag. "The family came round, the normal sha-bang. How about you?"

I shivered once at the word 'sha-bang', and then sucked in a deep breath. "The Minister of Magic came round to demand that Harry join his legions, my Prat-Of-A-Brother-Percy decided to insult my Mum's cooking and ended up leaving with parsnip covering his glasses, Phlegm was strangely decent, a couple of heavily-armed vegetables tried to kill me and I made a paper chain long enough to wrap around the world a couple of dozen times."

Ruth blinked once, twice, three times. "Bloody Hell, Ginny. Do you ever do anything normal?"

"George and I taught two gnomes to slow dance."

"Right," Ruth said, looking slightly dazed. "And I thought Luna was strange."

* * *

The first day of lessons dawned bright and frosty. The snow outside had frozen to ice, making the journey down to the Herbology greenhouses both amusing and embarrassing. Amusing when other people fell over, embarrassing when I fell over.

It was a relief when Hagrid dismissed the lesson after Care of Magical Creatures and we were allowed to slip, slide and trip our way back up to the Great Hall for lunch.

"Dear Merlin," Ruth gasped when we had reached the safety of the Entrance Hall. "I can't feel my toes."

"Don't say that," I warned, and when her eyebrows (encrusted with tiny icicles) shot up, I whispered, "Luna might hear you."

"Damn." Ruth scanned the Entrance Hall with narrowed eyes, as if expecting Luna to jump out behind one of the milling students brandishing garden clippers and some sort of Niffler-Poop antidote.

"Ruth?"

Ruth whipped around, and for a split second her hands shot to her feet to shield them from Luna's dangerous-but-generally-well-meaning wrath before she realised who was talking to her.

"Jayson!"

"Hi," he replied, smiling. His light brown hair was sort of windswept, and when he smiled little dimples blossomed on his cheeks. Ruth was blushing furiously, and I couldn't help but grin. "Hi, Ginny." Jayson waved to me over Ruth's shoulder, and I waved back.

"So, how was your Christmas?" he asked Ruth, who was leaning against the doorframe in a sort of nonchalant way, all thoughts of her poor (and possibly non-existent) toes clearly gone from her mind.

"Oh, alright, you know..."

I edged away, still grinning, and made for the Great Hall. On my way, I was intercepted by a messy haired, pink-cheeked Harry.

"Ginny!"

"Hey," I said brightly, my grin stretching impossibly wider. Harry's hair was sticking up at the front, and, as if reading my mind, he raised his hand to smooth it down.

"What's up?"

"Uh—" God damn it, Ginny, just say anything! "Not much. How about you?"

"Nothing, really. Have you just come from Herbology?" His eyes trailed over my ice covered robes and I felt myself shiver, but not from the cold.

"Care of Magical Creatures," I corrected him, smiling. I made a conscious effort to control my smile—if it got any wider it would surely grow too big for my face, and then there was a distinct possibility that my lips would fall off. And that, ladies and gentleman, would not be cool. At all.

"Must've been cold," he said, his light chortle making my toes curl as heat shot from them right up to my face, leaving tingles along the way as if every tiny-Ginny in my body was dancing with glee.

"Freezing," I replied, pressing the back of my hand up to my flushed cheeks in an attempt to make out that the redness there was due to the cold and not how adorable his butt looked in those pants.

Oh Merlin.

"The new Quidditch practices are up. On the notice board," he said suddenly, adding on as if the notice board was some obscure thing that I had never come across, "in the Gryffindor Common Room."

"Thanks," I said, trying to keep the confusion off my face. Every year since I had started Hogwarts the Quidditch timetable had been up on the Gryffindor Notice Board in the Gryffindor Common Room, so why was he reminding me? I knew I had a bad memory (I'd forgotten Charlie's birthday four years in a row) but I wasn't a fish!

"The next one's on Friday," he said, and I couldn't help but grin—his fish brain had obviously forgotten that he'd already told me that two days ago.

"What time?" I asked, even though I already knew. Everything Harry had ever said to me was locked away in a small (but growing larger) safe in the back of my mind. I rifled through it now—the next Quidditch practice was on Friday and half past five.

"Half five," he said.

"Harry!" I looked over Harry's adorably sculptured shoulder to see Ron waving and motioning like an idiot.

"I have to go," he said, rolling his eyes. "See you around?"

"Sure," I said while my insides cart wheeled around like Fred and George's fireworks. "See you."

He turned and walked towards Ron, and my cheeks began to ache as my grin grew dangerously wider. Harry hadn't said _bye_. He'd said 'see you around', which, if I was not mistaken, meant that he was intending to _see me around_. And if he was intending to, then it must've meant that he wanted to. I jumped on the spot once, resisting the urge to wiggle and clap my hands—Harry wanted to see me! Around!

"So," Ruth said as she walked up behind me, and I noticed that she had a grin to match mine. "How's Lover Boy No.2?"

"He's good," I replied as we walked—well, bounced—to the Great Hall and plonked down in empty seats. "How's your Lover Boy?"

"I don't know—"

"Ruth," I warned, waggling a piece of tuna pasta in front of her torn face. A small chunk of tuna flew off my fork and hit the third-year sitting opposite. He gave me a disgusted look, pulled the tuna out of his perfectly combed hair and stalked away.

"Fine," Ruth replied after much huffing and puffing. "I like him, okay? I really, really like him."

Resisting the urge to yell _hoorah!_ (because seriously, who says that anymore?) I instead smiled minutely and said wisely, "I know you do. So, what are you going to do about it?"

"What do you mean?" she asked quizzically, as if I'd just asked her to pass a slice of the sun-dried sofa cushion pie.

"About Lover Boy?"

"I'm not going to do anything."

"Why not?"

"Because—" she started, but she ran out of steam almost instantly, kind of like the Hogwarts Express when the driver has spent all morning reading Saucy Sorcettes Weekly (a particular magazine Fred and George were more than eager to subscribe to) and so forgotten to put fuel in the train.

Obviously still thinking of an adequate excuse, Ruth narrowed her eyes and demanded, "what are you doing about _your_ Lover Boy?"

"Which one?" I asked casually as I sprinkled pepper over my pasta. Mm, peppery pasta.

"Number Two."

"I can't do anything about Number Two until I've sorted out Number One," I replied superiorly, and then before she could quiz me on how exactly I was planning to sort it (for I truly had no idea) I added on, "and anyway, I already have a fully detailed Plan hidden under my pillow upstairs. I want to know what you're going to do about your Lover Boy."

"I can't do anything about it," Ruth mumbled after a long pause, in which the tuna-flicked boy walked past with a bunch of his friends, who were all glaring at me like some Ginny-Hating allegiance. I made a mental note to check the notice board for any information about a Ginny-Hating Allegiance, for I had a feeling one would be arising sometime soon.

"Why not?"

"Because!" she burst out angrily, as if that one word explained everything. Trying and failing to find some sort of hidden explanation in it, I pressed,

"Because of what?"

"It's—I'm—" she spluttered, and then she seemed to sag against the table so much that I feared she might have collapsed or something. "I don't know!"

"Right..."

"I'm so confused."

"About what?"

"I don't know," she repeated in a mumble. "About how I feel."

"About Jayson?"

"Yes."

"So, let me get this straight," I started, trying to pull together the last five minutes disjointed conversation. "You're really confused about Jayson and you don't want to do anything until you've sorted it out?"

"Yes."

"I have an idea!" I exclaimed loudly, brandishing my fork in the air. Ruth, rather than looking pleased, merely looked sceptical, though that could have been due to the rather sharp piece of cutlery I was pointing at her face. "Write a letter!"

"To who?"

"Jayson?"

Ruth blinked at me several times, and then her face grew so sarcastic she looked shockingly like Romilda Vane. "That's a fantastic idea, Ginny! The solution to all of my problems! Scribble all of my confused, ridiculous feelings down in a letter, mail it to Jayson and achieve ultimate embarrassment for life when he reads it and decides I'm a letter-writing psychopath! Hoorah!"

"Did you just say Hoorah?"

"Shut up, Ginny."

I sighed loudly, blowing my fringe out of my eyes. "You're not meant to send the letter, Ruth."

"Doesn't that kind of defeat the point of a _letter_?"

"You don't get it, do you?"

"Not at all."

"If you write all of your feelings down on paper then they'll organize themselves. You write them down, get them all out of your head, and then destroy the letter."

Ruth continued to stare at me for a while and then her face steadily grew hopeful.

"You think that could work?"

I picked up my goblet of pumpkin juice and sipped it nonchalantly. "It's worth a shot."

"I did that once."

Luna's dreamy voice came from so near behind me that I jumped in shock, sending pumpkin juice splattering over the table and my tuna pasta. I pushed it gingerly forward and then turned to Luna.

"Did what?"

"Wrote a letter and didn't send it," she replied, taking a spoonful of my pumkiny-pasta. She popped it into her mouth, chewed thoughtfully and then came back for more.

"Who did you write it to?" Ruth asked, looking both interested and repulsed as Luna devoured more of my horrible pasta.

"I wrote to the Ministry of Magic complaining about their usage of Blibbering Humdingers to power the private hot tub Fudge had in his office and the Polar Bears Fudge imprisoned and employed to make him ice-cream sundaes on the hour, every hour."

While I processed the fact that I hadn't seen Luna blink in the past minute and a half, Ruth did a whole minute-and-a-half's blinking in the space of three seconds.

"Three Ministry officials turned up on my doorstep and made me destroy it before I could send it off in case someone else in the Ministry read it and everyone found out about Fudge's private hot tub and on-the-hour-every-hour ice cream sundaes." Luna gave a long, drawn out, unblinking sigh. "I suppose it doesn't matter anymore now, seeing as Scrimgeour is Minister now and, well, vampires don't really like ice cream, do they?"

"We should get to Potions," Ruth blurted after an extremely long pause, in which Luna finished off the rest of my pasta.

"Right behind you," I replied hastily, and the two of us sprinted from the Hall, leaving Luna to skip along behind us.

* * *

"Today, we will be preparing the Shrinking Solution," Slughorn's voice boomed from the front of the dungeon. Luna, Ruth and I were slumped over a desk at the back, bored faces hidden behind the melted remains our previous Potion mishaps had left our cauldrons in.

"This is a very difficult potion to produce, and could be disastrous if made incorrectly..."

Unfortunately, my ears picked the perfect time to zone out of what he was saying. While he told the rest of the class some vital things they _shouldn't_ do (which, guaranteed, I _would_ end up doing) my brain wandered over several meaningless subjects until it landed on my current favourite: Harry.

In this particular fantasy, Harry was declaring his love for me from a standing position on the Gryffindor table in the Great Hall (because these fantasies always need a smidge of drama), ignoring the fact that most of the female members of the crowd were drowning in their own tears. I would then accept, he would pull me up next to him and kiss me without caring that everyone was watching and I was standing in a bowl of beans...

When the crowd in my fantasy disappeared to mull over their jealousy and Harry and I were left quite alone, still wrapped around each other, my fantasy shuddered to a halt.

I raised my head off my hands, glancing around the classroom as a sudden thought sprang to my mind. What if someone in this classroom could read minds? What if someone in this classroom was rifling through my private fantasies right this minute, not caring that they were meant to be, you know, _private?_

While the logical part of my brain (the less used part, I'll have to admit) told me that I was being ridiculous, and that people didn't read minds anymore, the part of my brain that was willing to accept weird and impossible theories became instantly suspicious.

I glared around the classroom, deciding to take instant action. Storing my current fantasy to the back of my mind for safekeeping, I concentrated all of my brainpower on thinking:

_Oi! Get out of my head! These fanta—uh, I mean, _thoughts_ are mine, and if you breathe a word of them to anyone else mark my words I will string you up by your shoelaces and beat you with a stick! Now mind your own business and stop nosing into my thoughts!_

When no one in the classroom looked appropriately abashed, shocked or disgusted I was free to conclude that my fantasies were my own, and was happy to return to them in peace.

"Now, remember that point—it is extremely important! Off you go."

"What?" I gasped, wrenching myself away from the abandoned broom closet Harry and I had moved on to. "What did he say we needed to remember?"

Ruth, who was staring blankly forward, merely continued to stare. I shook her hand, causing her chin to slip off it and her face to bang on the table.

"Ouch! What was that for?"

"Sorry," I replied as she rubbed her head. "It was an accident."

Ruth muttered something that sounded like 'accident-shmaccident', but I was too preoccupied with finding out what page number we were meant to have turned to to bother myself with Ruth's unintelligible mumblings.

"Page thirty-seven," Slughorn called from the front of the classroom.

"Sugar, what are we doing?" Ruth muttered to me, flipping the pages of her text book open.

"A Shrinking Solution," I replied, reading straight from the top of the page. My eyes trailed down over the instructions, every one of them screaming 'this is extremely complicated! I will kill you! Run for your lives!'

"What's one of them?" Ruth asked, pulling out her Potions kit.

"Your guess is as good as mine," I replied, but by the miniscule drawings littering the page I summarized that it was _something_ to do with shrinking. Looking round, I realised that everyone else had already started piling ingredients into their cauldrons, so hurried to the store cupboard.

Fifteen minutes later, my cauldron had been bombarded with a random selection of ingredients; half of them I was sure weren't even legal. I sprinkled a couple of strands of unicorn hair into the boiling liquid, watching as it turned an acid green sort of colour.

I checked the textbook—underneath the instruction to add the unicorn hairs, a small, italic sentence said '_WARNING: Should the potion turn an apple green colour it is strongly recommended that you vanish it immediately, as there is a good chance it will explode.'_

I scrutinized my potion. The book said if the potion turned apple green then it was dangerous, but my potion was definitely more of a _pear_ green colour. Deciding that should my potion explode it was entirely the textbook's fault for not being more specific about which colour fruit my potion should look like, I threw in a couple of lacewing flies and began to stir.

I glanced to the side as I did so—Ruth, who was on my left, looked like she was having a lot more trouble than I was.

Her potion, rather than shrinking, seemed to be multiplying rapidly. Thick, black sludge was pouring over the sides of her cauldron, burning holes in the wooden table top. After a copious amount of swearing and flustering, she transfigured her ink pot into a goblet and began to catch the excess sludge in the goblet, placing it quickly onto the table before transfiguring _my_ ink pot into another goblet.

I turned to my right. Luna's cauldron looked like it held nothing more than a bit of water and a couple of ingredients, but she didn't seem to care. She was leaning over the mouth of her cauldron, speaking to it in a quiet whisper that carried over the babble to me.

"Please, little potion, it would be awfully nice if you could transform into a Shrinking Solution. I know it's a hard thing to do, but if you could I would be the happiest girl in the world. Take your time, there's no rush—"

My eyebrows disappeared into my hairline, but rather than try to figure out what in the world Luna was attempting to do, I turned back to my own potion, which was now emitting large bubbles that blossomed into flowers when popped.

While Luna whispered quiet words of encouragement to her potion and Ruth transfigured every object within a wands distance into a goblet, I tried my best not to drown in a tide of fresh-smelling flowers.

* * *

"Why did Slughorn have to give us so much homework?" Ruth grumbled as she extracted her potions text book from her bag, which, rather than holding the rest of her books and quills, was brimming with brass goblets.

We were slouched in chairs in the Common Room, having just come back from dinner. Our decision to make a good start on our homework was failing abysmally—it had taken me the last ten minutes to write the first line of the rather large essay title, and Luna was still insisting that her quill needed more sleep before it could work.

"Maybe because your potion melted the whole work bench and Slughorn had to stop the lesson for ten minutes so he could get Filch to find him a new one?" I suggested, peeling apart the pages of my Potions textbook in an attempt to find something related to Shrinking Solutions.

"Your potion wasn't much better," Ruth argued back, stabbing her quill at her parchment. "You still have flowers in your hair."

I shook my head, watching as several petals tumbled onto the floor.

"At least my flowers didn't smell like burnt sh—Luna, what are you doing?"

Luna looked up at me, her eyes large and glassy. She raised a finger to her arm, made shush-ing gestures at me and then nodded down to the quill she had cradled in her arms.

"He's sleeping."

"Who's he?" Ruth asked, lining up the seventeen goblets on the table. She pulled out her wand and attempted to transfigure the first one back to its original state.

"Benjamin."

"_Benjamin_?"

"Yes, Ginny. Benjamin."

"You named your quill Benjamin?"

"Yes, Ginny. What did you name yours?"

"Mine doesn't have a name. It's a _quill._"

"I always thought yours looked like a Sue..."

"Sue?"

"Yes, Ginny."

"Why Sue?"

"Why not Sue?"

"She has a point," Ruth intoned, holding up a felt mouse by the little stringy tail, a frown on her face. "I'm sure I didn't have this in my bag..."

"Oh, Ruth—did you write that letter yet?" I asked while Luna turned back to her quill, Benjamin, and began to sing it a lullaby.

"Oh, yeah, I did," Ruth replied, grinning widely. "In History of Magic."

"Oh, is that what you were doing? I thought you were actually taking notes."

Ruth snorted at me as if my suggesting was highly improbable, which, unless you had tremendously bushy hair and more brain cells than the whole of Hogwarts put together, it was.

"Can I read it?" I asked.

"No!" Ruth yelped. Luna scowled at Ruth and raised her one finger to her lips. "It's private."

"When are you going to destroy it?"

"I'll burn it later," Ruth decided. "I put it inside my Potions text book before dinner for safekeeping." She patted the book on the desk, which was partially hidden behind huge rolls or parchment.

"Has it helped?"

"Wakey-wakey little Benjie..." Luna whispered to her quill.

"Yeah, it has actually," Ruth said, smiling in such a way that I could almost hear the church bells ringing. However, that could have just been the jingle of the goblets in Ruth's bag.

"Rise and shine, sunshine..."

"Eugh," came a loud voice from behind me. I spun around in my chair—Romilda Vane was stood behind us, glaring down as if she were staring at a pile of cat poop. "Look—it's Loony, Freaky and Ginger."

Oh no. Oh no, no, no. She did not just—one thing I couldn't—my hair was red. _Red_. R-E-D. The last person who had called my hair ginger was still in St. Mungo's, and I was more than happy to give Romilda the same treatment.

"Excuse me?" I demanded, glaring up at her. The vane-bots behind her tittered like little clucking chickens and I had to ball my hands into fists to restrain them. Luna had tucked the still sleeping Benjamin back into her bag, and was now sitting with her hands folded in her lap, staring at Vane with a mildly interested look on her face.

"Aww, isn't this cute. The freaks are having a study session."

"Did you know you had a Grangy Gumblium in your hair?" Luna asked Vane, who stared back at Luna with a disgusted expression. Not being used to Luna's occasional outbursts, it took Vane a little longer to recover than it would Ruth or me. Finally though, she managed to spit out,

"What?"

"It's a small, slimy creature that secretes oils into the hair and interferes with the mind to give the person a generally unpleasant demeanour. I hear Professor Snape has a whole nest of them in his hair. They can also give off a horrible odour."

Oh Merlin, I do _adore_Luna Lovegood.

"Oh, is that what the smell is?" Ruth asked through my explosive giggles. "I thought it was just your breath."

"Who do you think you're talking to?" Vane demanded, propping her hand on her hip and snapping her fingers in front of her face. I continued to laugh, ignoring her friends' disgusted expressions.

"I'm talking to you, Stinky."

Vane's expression pulled down in downright distaste, and then it turned evil. She bent forward so the books in her arms clattered on top of my head and onto the table. While I rubbed the egg on my head angrily, the Vane-bots continued to titter. Seriously, did they _do_ anything else besides titter?

"Oops, sorry. Did I destroy your little study session?"

Ruth jumped to her feet, wand extended as the remaining goblets went crashing to the floor. "You better—"

"Ruth," I warned, standing up too. "Just leave it. She's not worth it." While my mind seemed to agree with my words, my hands had other intentions—they drew my wand too and pointed it in Vane's direction. I tried to control them, but to be honest, my heart wasn't really in it. I preferred my hands much better with them pointed at Vane's chest.

Vane grabbed several books from the table, shot us all identical sneers and stalked away, snapping her fingers at her friends, who jumped to attention instantly and fell into line behind her.

"I hate her," Ruth growled, throwing herself back down into the chair.

"Me too. What a cow."

"I hope the Grangy Gumblium eats her head off," Luna said angrily, pulling her quill from her bag. "She woke Benjamin up and now he won't want to write for another two hours."

"Here," I said, passing Luna my quill. I had long given up on doing my potions essay. "You can borrow Sue."

"Are you sure? Doesn't she need to sleep?"

"She drinks a lot of coffee."

"Oh."

It was only when Luna began to scratch away on a spare piece of parchment with Sue did I notice that Ruth had been strangely quiet for the last minute or so. I looked over to see her staring down at her potions text book with a shocked expression.

"Ruth? What's—"

"This isn't my potions text book," she breathed, and I could see the book vibrate in her trembling fingers.

"Oh." I frowned. "Well, you can borrow mine to do the essay and we'll find yours later—"

"No, Ginny, you don't—" She paused and took a deep breath of air. It seemed to take all of her effort for her to speak. "The letter. To Jayson. I put it in my Potions textbook."

I felt the essay clutched in my left hand slip through my fingers and flutter to the floor. "Seriously?"

"I definitely did." She began to rifle desperately through the remaining books on the table, scattering parchment and quills onto the floor as she scrabbled across the table. Luna and I joined her search.

"When was the last time you had it?" I asked, looking under the table.

"I definitely had it after dinner, and I thought I had it before but now I have this one..."

She held up the text book in her hand. It was vaguely familiar, and I recognized it from Snape's gruelling lessons back in fourth year.

"You must have swapped it with someone accidentally. If you check whose it is, then you can just get it back off them. I doubt they will have used it already."

Ruth nodded several times, gulped, and flipped the front cover of the book back. Seconds later she dropped it back onto the table, her face coloured with horror.

"Oh no. Oh no, no, no..."

"Ruth, what is it?" Luna asked, but Ruth was beyond coherent sentences. I leaned forward in my chair to peer at the front page of the book. Scrawled across the top in loopy writing, with tiny hearts dotting the 'i's were the words:

_Hands off, bitches, this book is property of Romilda Vane._

* * *

**A/N: Quick authors note, because this laptop is gon' run out of battery :) Sorry this chapters shitty. Happy birthday to Ginny for Tuesday 11th. Happy Birthday to me too for the same day :D**

**Sorry again, hope you enjoy! :D**

**- SprayPaintedShoes**


	19. Chapter 19: So Many Rhyming Couplets

**A/N****: Whew. So, I decided to clean the cobwebs from my fanfiction account and actually _update_ something. This chapter was originally going to be longer, but after a month of writer's block I decided to just update what I had already written, otherwise you might not have got a chapter for another year or so :)**

* * *

CHAPTER 19 - So Many Rhyming Couplets...

"I'm an idiot."

"You're not an idiot."

"I'm so _stupid_!"

"No, you're not."

"How could this have _happened_?"

"It's a classic really. You put something valuable inside a book, the book gets switched..."

"Shut up, Ginny."

"Sorry."

"This is terrible. Absolutely terrible."

"It's not _that_ bad."

"I'm going to have to transfer, Ginny!"

"No you aren't."

"I am! I can't stay here anymore!"

"Why not?"

"Do you realise how crushed my reputation will be when Jayson reads that letter?"

"Your reputation wasn't too big in the first place, to be honest—"

"This isn't the time for jokes, Ginny!"

"Sorry. Just trying to lighten the mood."

"Oh my God—I'm going to have to go to Beauxbatons!"

"You are _not_ going to Beauxbatons, Ruth. I will not let you turn into a Phlegm-clone."

"I can't even speak French!"

"Exactly why you can't go."

"Well I can't go to that Salem academy in America—you know what they're like there!"

"Crazy."

"Insane!"

"Luna could go there."

"Luna doesn't need to go there! She didn't write a stupid letter and let the stupid letter fall into the hands of Romilda-effing-Vane!"

"True."

"Whose stupid idea was it to write that letter, anyway?"

"Er."

"It was yours, wasn't it?"

"Possibly..."

"Well, it was a stupid idea."

"I know that _now._"

"What am I going to do?"

"You could always get the letter back?"

"Great idea, Ginny! Why didn't I think of that before? Just waltz up to Vane and ask her to return the valuable and possibly humiliating love letter I wrote to Jayson. I'm sure she'd be more than happy to comply."

"Are you being sarcastic?"

"Yes."

"Oh. Right."

"Oh my God."

"What?"

"There's only one thing left for me to do."

"What?"

"I'm going to have to kill myself."

"You have got to be kidding me."

"No! It's the only other option! It's a choice between dying on my own terms or dying of embarrassment."

"Hard descision, eh?"

"Now you're the one being sarcastic."

"I think you're over-exaggerating, Ruth."

"I think you need to shut up."

"Right."

"Have you got a rope?"

"What the—"

"You're right, that wouldn't work—"

"Ruth, stop being stupid."

"Sorry. I'm getting ahead of myself. It'd probably be better for me to die of embarrassment—less messy, I'd imagine."

"I've got an idea—how about we just _don't_ die? Eh? Eh?"

"What else am I going to do?"

"We'll think of something, Ruth."

"I'm so stupid. So, so, _so stupid_."

"No you're not."

I sighed, feeling like a very broken record player. Ruth and I had been repeating the same conversation over and over again, as if more confirmation of how _bad_ the situation was could somehow make it better. Unfortunately, things didn't work like that. Repeating conversations over and over again just gave you a very sore mouth.

"I wish the ground would just swallow me up," Ruth mumbled from her position on the floor. She was laying face down next to my bed, her hair splayed around her head.

"Be careful what you wish for," I said, eyeing up the dormitory walls and hoping Hogwarts' Great-But-Not-Always-Welcomed-Magic wouldn't take her too seriously. I didn't even want to imagine McGonagall's face if I told her that my best friend had been eaten by the floorboards.

"You know, it wouldn't be _too_ terrible if he found out..." I tried, twisting the end of my duvet around my finger.

"Are you serious?" Ruth demanded, pushing herself up into a seated position. Her face was embedded with the swirling wood pattern of the floor, proof of how long I'd tried (and failed) to make her stand up.

"Uh, yes?"

"Jayson reading that letter would be the worst thing possible. More terrible than, than... than witnessing Flich and Pince's secret love affair!"

Ew.

"That's a mental image I really didn't need."

Ruth scowled at me in a 'you really _aren't_ helping' way, so I banished all thoughts of Filch and Pince kissing behind the bookshelves (again—ew) and tried a different approach.

"Is what you wrote _really_ that embarrassing?"

"Yes."

"What did you write?"

"I'm not telling you."

"Please?" I fluttered my eyelashes, resisting the urge to use a quick lengthening charm on them, figuring that I might take the angelic look slightly too far and end up making my eyebrows look like they were infested with spiders.

"No."

"Why not?"

"Will you tell me what that impossible Operation thing stands for?"

Damn. I pondered the straight-jacket I would inevitably end up in if _anyone_ got wind of the true meaning of Operation: , and, deciding the contents of Ruth's letter weren't worth all of the hassle, replied, "no, I suppose not."

Ruth looked triumphant for a split second before she sagged back to the floor, adopting her favored I'm-so-depressed-and-upset-it's-not-fair-please-give-me-chocolate pose.

"I'm such an idiot."

"If you say that one more time I'm going to hex you."

"Sorry."

There was a soft knock on the dormitory door. Ruth flew off the floor so fast she was a blur, and only when my eyes had adjusted did I see her clutching her hands to her chest, her face stricken.

"Oh Merlin! It's Jayson! This is it!"

"It's not Jayson, Ruth," I replied calmly, getting up to answer the door while again asking myself why the Hell anyone bothered to knock anymore.

"And how do you know?"

"Jayson couldn't have gotten up the stairs."

"Oh. Right."

I pulled open the door to reveal Luna blinking back at me. She had run back to her dormitory to drop off her bags after 'The Vane-Book-Swap Catastrophe of '96' (as Luna herself had so bravely named it).

"Hi," she said as she entered the room, her eyes widening slightly at the sight of Ruth, who was lying on the floor again in her depressed-unfair-chocolate pose. "Is she okay?" she whispered to me in and undertone.

"She's fine, just a little upset."

"Does she need some chocolate?"

I had to hand it to Ruth, her pose really worked.

"I don't think so," I replied, having learnt from experience _not_ to accept food off Luna, seeing as most of it ended up being inedible. And poisonous.

"Have you come up with anything yet?" Luna asked, her dreamy voice sounding oddly serious as she lowered herself on the floor next to Ruth.

"Apart from Ruth transferring to Beauxbatons? No."

"She can't go there," Luna responded, her delicate eyebrows pulling down over her glassy eyes. "Madame Olympe is training her students in gymnastic-combat. She wants to form a circus-army to overthrow the centaurs and take their lifetime supply of marshmallows."

There's the Luna we all know and love!

"That's what I said," I replied, trying to keep the smirk off my face. Now was not the time for laughter. Be _serious_, Ginny.

"You could always get the letter back," Luna said, patting Ruth (who was moaning into the floorboards) absently on the back.

"We can't!" Ruth whined, banging her fists on the floor. "How are we supposed to sneak into Vane's bag and take it before her next Potions lesson? We don't even know when that is!"

"Monday," Luna replied instantly.

Er.

"How do you know that?" I asked, frowning.

"Today in Potions Slughorn told us to go easy with the Fluxweed because his fifth years needed to use it too, and he wouldn't be able to order some before Monday."

"You actually _listened_ today?" I asked, mesmerised with the thought of someone's ears being able to stay awake through such boring instructions.

"Only to that bit. Fluxweed is the Crumple-Horned Snorack's favourite food."

"Right."

"Even if we know when she has Potions," Ruth butted in suddenly, her voice dripping with despair so heavy I felt like I'd just walked into Nearly-Headless Nick's Deathday party (why Harry ever went to that I do not know). "How are we going to get the book back?"

Luna tapped her chin with a complacent finger, and I noted that if I had had a beard it would have been the perfect time to stroke it. Feeling both oddly disappointed and grateful at my lack of facial hair, I resigned to screwing up my face thoughtfully instead. Truly, I had no bloody clue how we were going to sneak into Vane's bag/dormitory to steal Ruth's book back.

"I mean, come on," Ruth continued, the picture of pessimism. I was surprised I hadn't already exploded like some sort of gooey, pessimistic Ginny bomb. "How are we going to find someone slimy, sneaky and downright crazy enough to go within two feet of Vane?"

While Luna shrugged, my mind went into overdrive—it had latched onto only three of the words Ruth had said: slimy, sneaky and crazy.

I jumped to my feet, suddenly frantic with a slither of optimism that shoved all of the pessimism to the side.

"Ginny—"

"That's it! You're a genius, Ruth!"

Ruth thought finding someone to fit that rather unpleasant description impossible, but I knew just the person.

"Uh thanks. But why—Ginny? Where are you going?"

I had already rushed to the door after swiping Vane's icky textbook off Ruth's bed, too keyed up from the excitement my good idea had given me to explain, because, let's face it, I didn't have good ideas very often.

"I need to—I can't explain—"

"I know that face," Ruth said slowly, rising to her feet and pointing her finger in my direction. "You either have a plan or need to be directed to a bathroom _immediately_."

While I didn't appreciate Ruth's jab at my toilet-habits, I had to agree she'd got it in one.

"I'll be back in a sec," I replied conspiratorially, grinning. Ruth opened her mouth to protest and began to follow me, but I had already darted out of the door, leaving my two friends to gape at my back.

I had reached the fourth year dormitories when I heard Ruth yell,

"For your sake, you better have a plan and not imminent flatulence issues!"

* * *

I sagged against a stone wall in an abandoned corridor about ten minutes later, blowing my fringe out of my eyes with a strongly exhaled puff of air.

I'd never had to _find_ Nathanial before. He'd always been the one to pop up at random moments, giving me both heart failure and no indication of where he had been before.

I had snuck into the Great Hall, which had been empty apart from a lone ghost crying about burnt curtains in the corner, crept around the library before leaving seconds later feeling terribly nauseous after seeing Pince checking her smudged lipstick in the window, and poked around in the dungeons before getting too scared and running away.

I looked up and down the deserted corridor, knowing that it was getting close to curfew, but also knowing I couldn't go back empty handed. I couldn't deal with the anticlimax, or the flatulence issues jokes Ruth was bound to pelt me with.

I'd never really stopped to consider what Nathanial did in his spare time. I couldn't exactly imagine him brushing his teeth or playing Gobstones with his friends—did he have friends?

Acting on a sudden idea in the back of my mind, I pushed myself of the wall and stumbled into the middle of the corridor. Feeling incredibly stupid, I looked up and down the corridor and whispered into the darkness,

"Nathanial?"

"You rang?"

"Oh shi—"

The voice rang loud and clear through the corridor, and I whipped around in a very unattractive circle to try and locate the source of the voice that had just scared the Nargles out of me.

Standing behind me was Nathanial, looking just as smug and greasy and abnormally small as usual.

"Have you been following me all this time?" I gasped over my beating heart, hoping I wouldn't faint and have to be dragged to the infirmary by Nathanial, because that would raise a _lot_ of awkward questions that I really didn't want to answer.

"No, you were just very lucky. I was on my way to the library and heard you calling me." He brandished a book in his hand, grinning smugly.

"Oh. I wouldn't go to the library just yet. I think Pince is expecting a night time visit from Filch."

"Ew."

"My thoughts exactly."

There was a short pause, in which I tried desperately not to think of Filch and Pince and Nathanial rocked backwards and forwards on his shoes, which, I noticed after a quick inspection, were shiny and pointy. Odd.

"Did you, uh, want me for anything in particular?" Nathanial asked finally, tucking the book under his armpit. I frowned instantly—was it just me, or was Nathanial acting very... un-Nathanial-like? All sensible, cool and... not odd?

"What, no Shakespeare today?"

"Even people like me get days off, you know."

"You haven't stalked me in a while, have you?"

"We've only been back a day, Ginevra dear. Give me a chance to catch my breath. I trust you had a pleasant Christmas, milady?"

"It was uh—interesting. How about, uh, yours?"

It was the first personal question I'd actually asked my freaky stalker.

"Fine," he replied, inspecting his fingernails. "Just fine."

"That's good."

"So, you wanted something?"

"Oh, yeah. I need a—" I paused, winced, and then uttered the forbidden word. "Favour."

"Something is rotten in the state of Denmark," he replied, turning up his nose in a way he obviously thought looked mysterious.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"I don't know. It was the first thing that came into my head."

"Right. Is it a yes, though?"

"Could I say nay to you, my fair princess?"

"I don't know, could you?"

"Nay."

"Good." I began to pace up and down the corridor, wishing I had a long, swishy cloak like Dumbledore to _really_ set the mood. "Do you know someone called Romilda Vane?"

Nathanial snorted loudly. "Who doesn't?"

What was going _on_? This wasn't my freaky-eyed stalker who showered me with dead plants and demanded that I accompany him to parties he wasn't invited to! My not-so-stalker caught my confused gaze and corrected himself quickly.

"I mean—of course I do, my dear. But—what would you want with a heartless fiend like Romilda Vane?"

That's better. I resumed my pacing, trying to figure out the best way to put it.

"There was an—incident. Basically, my best friend put something _very_ valuable inside her Potions textbook—a letter, to be precise—and then ended up accidently switching that textbook with Romilda Vane's. So now Ruth has Vane's textbook, and Vane has Ruth's letter."

Nathanial let out a soft whistle. "How valuable is this letter?"

"Extremely valuable," I said hastily. "I'm talking seriously dangerous letter here. If Vane reads the contents of that letter then, well—we're all doomed. Vane reading that letter would be a total catastrophe."

"A girl-catastrophe or an actual catastrophe?"

"Huh?"

"Well, you know—girls see a broken nail as a catastrophe. Would someone reading the letter really be that bad?"

"I'm pretty certain it would make the world explode. At least."

"Right. And what do you need me to do?"

"I need you to switch it," I said, holding Vane's textbook up between us. "With this one."

Nathanial's squinty eyes travelled from the book to me and then back to the book again and then back to me and then back to the book etc. (You get the idea).

"So, you want me to sneak into Romilda Vane's bag, take the Potion's textbook that's inside it and switch it with that one without being seen?"

Sheesh—when he put it that way, he made it sound like blooming Mission-Very-Impossible-So-Don't-Even-Bother-IIII.

"No problem."

"Oka—what? No problem?" I gaped at Nathanial, who had shrugged at my insane request and deemed it to be, and I quote, 'no problem'. I didn't know about him, but Vane, love letters and trickery all mixed together presented rather a lot of problems to me. And a whole lot of lip-gloss, too.

"Sure."

"You think you'll be able to do it?"

"I snuck into your bag without you noticing, didn't I?"

"_What_?"

"How else was I supposed to memorize your timetable?"

"You _snuck_ into my _bag_?"

"Calm down, Ginny, I only—"

"_You snuck into my bag?_"

I was towering over him now, the Potions book grasped tightly in my left hand. Nathanial backed away slowly, his hands splayed out in front of him.

"If you kill me, I won't be able to steal your friend's book back!"

Damn it. And I _so_ wanted to hurt him.

"Fine," I mumbled reluctantly, lowering the book. "So you'll do it then?"

Nathanial seemed to consider for a second, twirling the book he was holding round in his hands. Finally, he looked up at me. "Will it make you happy if I get it back?"

"It will make my friend happy," I replied, already imagining Ruth's response if I got back her letter. She would probably scream, whoop, dance and kiss me (and Nathanial, if she ever managed to locate him) several times.

"And that will make you happy?" His eyes seemed wider than usual—more, sincere... I shivered slightly—this was so darn _weird_.

"Yes," I said finally.

"Then I'll do it," he said simply, holding out his hand for Vane's book. I handed it over slowly, an odd feeling in the pit of my stomach that sort of made me want to smile and not brutally mutilate my little stalker. Maybe Nathanial wasn't _all_ bad.

"Her next Potions lesson is on Monday, so you'll need to get to her before then. Over the weekend, probably."

Nathanial nodded, studying the inside of the book, his face looking serious. "Why then tonight let us assay our plot," he mumbled under his breath.

"Huh?"

"Never mind," he replied, flicking through the book. He turned around, still studying the textbook. "I'll be in touch."

He moulded into the darkness instantly, leaving me alone to stand and stare.

* * *

I stood the the doorway of the Great Hall on Saturday, scanning the Gryffindor table for somewhere to sit. It was lunch time, and I was alone; Ruth had refused to accompany me (stating that she was too depressed to eat or walk) and had locked herself in the dormitory with a French dictionary and a large tub of ice cream (that she had unfairly refused to share—"your life is going fine at the moment, you don't need sugary goodness to comfort you.")

I spotted Harry and Hermione sat a little way down the table and went to join them, plonking my bum on a stretch of bench opposite Hermione.

"For goodness sake, Hermione, it was just a lesson. You usually beat me all of the time," I heard Harry say as I sat down.

"Not any more since your following that stupid book's instructions—oh, hello, Ginny."

"Hi," I replied when both of them had noticed me. Harry grinned in my direction, making my heart flop about feebly. Hermione looked slightly (by which I mean very) pissed off.

"What's up?" I asked—it didn't take an idiot to sense the tension between the two.

"Not much," Harry replied, pausing to let Hermione 'humph!' loudly before continuing, "how about you?"

"Ah, nothing. Just dealing with catastrophes and such."

"Hey, Ginny," Harry said suddenly, his face lighting up like the lumos spell. "You haven't had an invitation to any more of Slughorn's parties, have you?"

My eyebrows shot up. Harry looked far too hopeful at the mere thought of Slughorn trapping us all in his stuffy office for_ another_ three hours, whereas Hermione merely looked quite sick (due to, no doubt, the McLaggen memories that accompanied that particular night).

"The last one was only a few weeks ago," I said. "You can't honestly want to go to another one?"

"I'd rather marry Umbridge than go to another one of those parties," Harry said bitterly, and I both shuddered and seethed at the memory of Umbitch and my future husband in matching toad-like pink suits. "But I—well, I need to. You're sure you haven't had an invite?"

"No," I said, "but I'll tell you if I get one."

"Thanks," he replied, grinning at me.

"So," I said after a pause, noticing the strange absence in the usually (and very annoyingly) present third member of Hogwarts' favourite trio. "Where's Ron?"

I knew I had asked the wrong thing when Harry slapped a palm to his face and Hermione's hair grew several times larger.

"Oh I don't know," she answered sarcastically, twirling spaghetti around her fork in a way that should be illegal. "Probably off devouring Lavender's face somewhere."

"Oh," I said stupidly, and then, "um."

"Hermione," Harry started in the weary voice of a man who has said the same thing seven million times, "can you not just—"

"No, Harry, for the seven millionth time—" I wasn't the only one who liked to exaggerate, it seemed, "—I can't!"

"What's—" I began, but Harry shook his head vigorously. "Well," I said, after a long and extremely awkward silence. "I'm going to—"

I had been about to say 'leave' but a tap on my shoulder thwarted my rather sneaky escape from the big pool of angry awkwardness I had mistakenly fallen into. I turned around, my eyebrows cocking when I saw a pale white, wide-eyed second year behind me, holding out a folded piece of parchment in her trembling hand.

"Er," I said, for that was truly all I could say.

"Someone—someone gave me—this is for—" Her voice was weak and feeble, and the hand she held out was wobbling uncontrollably. "This is for you."

I eyed the piece of parchment in her hand. Ew. _So_ not touching that.

"Er," I repeated.

"You have to read it," she said after a gulp, stuttering over her words. I turned to glance back at Harry and Hermione, who shrugged simultaneously. "I was told to give—to give it to Ginny W-Weasley."

"Right," I said, plucking the shaking parchment from between her fingers. I unfolded it gingerly, as if expecting it to spontaneously combust in my hands. Inside there were several lines of thin, scrawled writing in a penmanship that was both completely new to me, yet oddly familiar.

_G_

_I have what you want. Meet me tonight on the corner of the Charms corridor, next to the portrait of the man with the fluffy slippers._

_N_

I knew who the note was off instantly. I raised the hand that wasn't holding the parchment and patted the poor girl on the shoulders.

"There there," I said, remembering my first encounter with Nathanial—I had felt the same way. "It's okay. That's probably the last time you'll ever see him."

"So many—so many rhyming couplets," the girl muttered, her wide eyes staring into mine. "So much grease—so much..."

"There there," I repeated, spinning the girl in a slow circle. "Go and get some chamomile tea."

The girl stumbled away, still muttering incessantly. "The shoes—so pointy—"

I spun back around on the bench, tucking the piece of parchment into my pocket. Harry and Hermione were both gawping at me.

"Who was that?" Harry asked, his eyebrows moulding into his delightful hairline (a full one, not a receding one like Malfoys).

"Just someone dropping off a note for me," I replied with a nonchalant hand-wave.

"From who?" Hermione questioned. She seemed to have dropped her pissed-off attitude and was back to her suspicious, Sherlock-Holmes act.

"Just someone I know," I replied in a trying-to-be-innocent-but-only-succeeding-in-looking-extremely-guilty sort of way.

"Who—" Hermione started, but her demand was cut off by Ron plonking himself down on the bench next to me.

"I'm starving," he said, clapping his hands together. Harry slapped his face with his palm again, and Hermione gripped the table so hard it began to splinter beneath her fingers.

"Alright," I said, knowing that if I stayed much longer there was a very high chance I would be killed in a spaghetti-filled duel gone awry. "I'm going to go. I'll see you later."

I hopped up and scurried away from the table, hoping that Hermione would hold off the explosion until I was safely away.

* * *

**A/N: Just a few points...**

**1) So I found my infamous yellow penstick :) It was in the pocket of this jumper that I NEVER wear, so I have no idea how it got there...**

**2) Writer's block's a bitch.**

**3) NEW MOON CAME OUT! :D I went to the midnight screening on the Thursday night/Friday morn' and I have to say, I loved the movie. I thought the effects were a lot better than Twilight, it was a lot funnier (mostly down to Jacob--"age is just a number, baby) and to be honest, anything with a topless Taylor Lautner in is going to be immense. Oooooft. I am now OFFICIALLY Team Jacob. What did you all think? :)**

**SprayPaintedShoes.  
**


	20. Chapter 20: The Phase of the Sweatpants

**A/N: No comment.**

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* * *

**

As it turns out, many of the aged warlocks snoozing in the portraits lining the Charms corridor had fluffy slippers. Merlin, even a Phlegm-esque woman frolicking beneath an apple tree had fuzzy pink slippers on her dainty little Phlegm-esque feet (apparently Sir Cadogan had stolen her proper shoes-"you tell him that I want them back, everyone knows Jimmy Choos don't suit horses!").

Seeing as Nathanial's instructions were three shades vaguer than very very vague, I dawdled around the corner as far away from the Phlegm-esque woman, who had tried to engage me in a conversation of peep-toes versus sling-backs. Ruth had drained her supply of ice cream and was now shuffling around the dormitory in sweat pants and odd socks, full of woe, self pity and cookie dough goodness.

"Psst! _Psst!_"

I frowned, spinning around in the dark corridor. Either someone had seriously mistaken the wall for a urinal or...

"Nathanial!" I whispered aloud, my eyes making out his greasy hair poking around the opposite corner. As I approached he pressed his back flat against the wall, the shadows covering him in darkness.

"Hello, G," he whispered silkily as I approached. In turn, I pressed myself against the wall on the other side of the corner.

"N," I replied. "You have the goods?"

Nathanial pulled a large book from the inside of his robes and held it out to me. "As you requested."

I flicked open the book, my insides sighing in relief when they saw an envelope wedged in between the two middle pages. "And the girl?"

"None the wiser, ma'am. I went by nightfall."

"Very good."

"Can I be of assistance in any other way, ma'am?" Nathanial asked, and I bit back a chuckle.

"No, that will be all, N. You have done well."

"Thank you, G," Nathanial replied, and he ducked low and began to creep back down the corridor, his mysterious aura ruined by his shoes, which squeaked loudly with every step he took and made him sound like one of the rubber mice Crookshanks liked to violently mutilate and leave in Ron's bed.

Once Nathanial had squeakily melted away I dropped the James Bond act and let my arms and legs flail around in a victory dance that should never be seen by anyone but the fuzzy-slippered portraits.

I had the letter! Now Ruth could stop moping around the dormitory, put on something that wasn't made of cotton and actually _share_ the ice cream. She might even go so far as to _smile_ again.

I skipped back in the direction of the common room. As I was approaching the portrait of the (thankfully slipperless) Fat Lady, she swung open to reveal none other than Heart Throb Harry, who, in comparison to Nathanial, was looking even more sexy than usual.

I shook my head slightly to rid anymore thoughts that connected Harry to Nathanial in _any way_ and said brightly, "hello, Harry."

"Ginny!" Harry said, his eyes widening slightly. "Out for a midnight stroll?"

"Just getting a book," I replied, adding on internally "from my freaky Shakespeare-quoting, Elvis-hairstyling stalker who looks and acts absolutely nothing like you, no he doesn't, even the hair is different, his isn't even _that_ black, not like yours anyway, yours is as dark as a blackboard."

Externally, I said, "I could ask you the same question, though."

"I have a meeting actually," Harry said, his hand furrowing deep into his pockets. "With Dumbledore."

"Oh," I said-my tactful eavesdropping before the last Hogsmeade trip had notified me of Dumbledore and Harry's little _soirées, _but I didn't think Harry would actually tell me about them. To pop the bubble of awkwardness, I asked slyly, "a date with Dumbledore? Something you're not telling us, Harry?"

"You couldn't really call it a date - most of the time he makes _me_ pay for dinner."

"How chivalrous of you, Harry," I said, grinning when Harry chuckled the chuckle that made me want to chuckle with girlish, chuckle-y glee.

"What can I say, I _am_ Harry Potter," he replied, and I laughed aloud. "Anyway, Dumbledore usually gets catty when I'm late for our dates, so I better go."

"Okay," I said, and I began to move backwards towards the portrait hole as he began to move away. "If he makes you pay though, make sure he only orders water."

"Will do," Harry called over his shoulder, and I grinned again as I turned and entered the common room.

I bypassed the people around me and made a beeline for the dormitory, the textbook still tucked securely underneath my arm. When I opened the door, Luna was sitting cross-legged on Ruth's bed, her eyes closed.

"Er - Luna?"

"Hush, Ginny, I'm meditating."

"On Ruth's bed?"

"Mine is encircled with bad vibes."

"Right. Have you seen Ruth?"

Luna didn't open an eye, but pointed towards the floorspace underneath the large window at the back of the dormitory. Ruth was, again, lying face down on the floorboards. If she wasn't careful, she'd end up so flat she'd _look _like a floorboard and wind up spending the rest of her life being carted around by a circus and getting called 'plank-face'.

"Ruth," I said, sitting down next to her. "Why are you lying on the floor again? I thought we'd reached 'Phase Two: The Phase of the Sweatpants'."

"Luna is using my bed to consult her spiritual aurora," Ruth mumbled into the floor.

"Come on, cheer up, Ruthie," I said, nudging her in the side. Ruth, however, remained in the sloth-like pose common to those experiencing 'Phase One: The Pathetic Phase In Which A Sloth Is Often Imitated' phase on the 'The Phases Of Depression' cycle.

"What is there to be cheery about?" Ruth demanded as much as one can when one is in Phase Two.

"I may have something," I sang suggestively.

Ruth's head lifted off the floor, her eyes perking with badly squashed interest. "Something like what?"

"Something like a potions textbook with a letter in it," I said, pulling the textbook from behind my back and brandishing it in front of her face.

Ruth remained stationary for several seconds, her eyes flicking between the textbook and my face, before she exploded. She burst from the floor (literally) and wrenched the textbook from my hand. The letter fluttered out from between the dog-eaten pages and was wedged in Ruth's fist before it hand managed to touch the floor.

"This is my -" Ruth started, her face a mask of perfect shock and disbelief. "This is my letter. _My letter! _Oh, Ginny -!"

Ruth threw her arms around my neck and caught me in a strangling hug so powerful I toppled backwards onto the floor, Ruth still hugging me.

"I can't believe you got it -"

"Ruth, I can't -"

"_How _did you get it? I don't even care -"

"Can't breathe -"

"You're a lifesaver, Ginny! I'm forever in your debt! I'll take a jellylegs for you any day!"

"Ruth, I can't breathe!" I managed to splutter eventually, and Ruth clambered off me, her face flushed with excitement and embarrassment.

Massaging my very sore neck (I guessed I'd have a bruise the next day that would make Dean _very_ suspicious) I put in, "and I didn't get it back for you. Do you think I'd even go within five metres of Vane?"

Ew, so wouldn't.

"You didn't?" Ruth asked breathlessly, her brows furrowing in an expression that made her look like Goyle trying to figure out how to use his knife and fork. "Then who did?"

"Nathanial," I answered simply. "I asked him to get it, so he did."

"Nathanial did?" Ruth echoed, and her frown deepened. "I thought he was just a hallucination?"

"We've been over this, Ruth!" I protested angrily. "He's not a hallucination, he's real. And I'm not insane!"

Ruth snorted.

"If you don't believe me I can just take this book back," I started, but Ruth shot backwards, clutching the book and letter to her chest.

"And willingly let me enter 'Phase Three: The Phase In Which Melodramatic Monologues And The Third Person Are Used?'" Ruth demanded, her face horrified.

I paused. "I thought that was Phase Four?"

"Phase Four is 'Phase Four: The Phase That Makes You Miss The First Three Stages."

"Oh, right."

"Hem hem," Luna intoned from her aurora-bubble over on Ruth's vibe-free bed. "Can you two stop making so much noise? You're harshing my mellow."

"Excuse me?" I said, letting out a surprised bark of laughter.

Ruth, who's face was now looking incredulous with laughter and not the thought of advancing a Phase, echoed, "_harshing your mellow_?"

"Fo' shiz," Luna replied seriously, and Ruth and I both died a little inside.

* * *

**A/N****: Very, very short chapter, I know, but it was written in an hour, in my defense. I was sorting through some old fanfiction stuff and happened across the last chapter of TMIHC, and after feeling extremely guilty for five minutes I thought 'what the Heck, let's go spew some shit for several minutes and update!'**

**So here you have it, folks. Spewed shit!**

_I'msorryfornotupd atingfornearlys evenmonths pleasedon'thuntmedownandkillmeI'mjustachild._


	21. Chapter 21: Harry Frickin' Potter

**A/N****: Um. Yeah. **

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Chapter 21 - Harry Frickin' Potter

"Murder me, Ginny."

My head, which had, prior to Ruth's dramatic homicide request, been directed towards the ridiculously difficult homework Snape had set us yesterday (in a fit of rage after Colin Creevey had pointed out an unbuttoned button on his so lavishly buttoned and high collared shirt), shot up.

"Why?" I asked, my eyebrows dipping into a frown. Ruth had splayed herself out on the armchair opposite me, her face filled with anguish, which only worried me further. It was a fortnight after the Book Swap Catastrophe of '96 had come to a victorious conclusion, and Ruth hadn't so much as looked at a pair of sweatpants since, which was why her sudden bout of melancholy worried me. The moping I could deal with, the constant usage of the third person I couldn't.

Ruth sensed my tone instantly and rolled her eyes. "Calm down, Ginny," she said, waving an airy hand in my direction. "I'm not planning on reverting back to Phase Six anytime soon."

"Good, because those voodoo dolls were just freaky, and I don't even want to know how you managed to get hold of some of Vane's hair."

"Are you sure? It's quite a thrilling tale."

"Spare me, please."

Ruth rolled her eyes again, reminding me of those freaky google-eyes that muggles put on their teddy bears to make them look like psychotic murder suspects. Why a three year old would cry over one of those, I do not know. "Have you seen Jayson today?" she demanded, straightening up on the chair and blowing her fringe out of her eyes.

I dabbed at a droplet of ink that had splashed onto the sheaf of parchment on my lap, only succeeding in smudging it over the whole corner. "Damn," I muttered under my breath, and then added on louder, "and no, I haven't. It's your job to keep tabs on your lover boy, not mine. Why?"

"Last night when I went to the library I saw him talking to that Prudence girl in the year below," Ruth replied, her eyes narrowing instantly as she surveyed the common room, which was bathed in dim morning light. I had woken up half an hour early in hopes of finishing Snape's ridiculously unfair essay before breakfast – so far, the outcome didn't look too promising.

"The Hufflepuff one?" I asked, giving up my futile smudging effort and banishing the ink with my wand.

"No, one of the other twenty Prudences at Hogwarts, because it's such a popular name, you know," she retorted sarcastically, flicking a piece of lint at me. Fortunately for me, fluff balls do not make good missiles, and the piece of lint floated pathetically onto the carpet several inches in front of Ruth's outstretched finger.

"Hey, you're angry at Jayson, not me," I reminded her. "And it's not like we don't have our fair share of odd names at this school: Draco, Millicent, Romilda..."

"Ginny," Ruth finished for me, before shooting me a grin which was cut short when I threw a pillow at her face. "I'm only joking. You know I love you, Ginevra."

"I could hex you, you know."

"Anyway, back to Jayson," Ruth said quickly, and I grinned inwardly, glad that my Bat Bogy Hex could still evoke fear and fright in even the strongest of people. "What do you reckon?"

"About what?" I asked, frowning as I tried to recall the third use of dragons blood, and resisting the temptation to pop into Dumbledore's office on the way down to the Great Hall and ask him myself.

"About Jayson and Prudence," Ruth exclaimed, earning us several dirty looked from the fourth years sitting on the cluster of armchairs next to ours.

"They were probably just talking, Ruth," I told her, shaking my head. "It mightn't have meant anything."

"But Prudie was _laughing_," Ruth pressed, her eyebrows rising.

"So she has a sense of humour," I said, shrugging. "Maybe you should get one."

Ruth ignored my jibe, a feat she had become quite practiced at during our many years of friendship. "What if Jayson fancies her? What am I going to do? I'm all hung up on him and he probably doesn't even know I exist!"

I gave Ruth a flat look over the top of my pristine parchment. "That's ridiculous, Ruth, you were talking to him two days ago."

Ruth shook her head and waved away my statement. "You know what I mean," she said, something that I had to disagree with. "Probably doesn't know I exist in that way. Not in the way he sees _Prudence_ anyway." Ruth slumped dramatically in her chair once more, her face folding into a frown. "I bet they're going to get together and everything, and then I'm going to have to watch him and _Prudence_ frolicking up and down the corridors while I sit in the corner crying, and then they're going to get married, and Prudence is going to have a baby with Jayson's eyes and call her _Hope_ or _Virtue_ or some equally fluffy name."

"Ruth," I said loudly, for she looked ready to continue her rant. I dropped my quill (splashing yet more ink onto my homework), held up my hand and began to tick off my objections on my fingers. "First, you sound like a crazy person. Second, Jayson and Prudence were talking to each other, which does not mean they're going to get married and have a child and name her after a fluffy characteristic. Third, Jayson was probably only talking to Prudence because he couldn't find you, and fourth, stop saying Prudence like that; she's actually a very nice person."

"I know, she's a blooming angel," Ruth mumbled, and then she sighed heavily. "I'm being stupid, aren't I?"

"Yes," I said loudly, nodding. If nothing else, a good best friend is someone who isn't afraid to tell you you're acting like a complete idiot.

Ruth gave an unintelligible shout of frustration and slapped her face into her hands. "This is ridiculous," she grumbled, her voice sounding muffled through her fingers. "That stupid letter was meant to sort out my feelings for Jayson. It was _meant_ to make things better."

"You mean you're still confused about whether you like him or not?"

"No," Ruth said, and then she changed her mind. "Yes. But – no! I know I like Jayson. I really like him, in fact. But now I know that, I don't know what to do about it."

"Join the club, sister," I said, for Harry and Ron had just descended the stairs to the boys dormitories and taken their seat closest to the fireplace, obviously waiting for Hermione before they went down to breakfast. Harry was looking rather preoccupied, and I felt myself frowning. When I looked back at Ruth, I found that she was also looking in Harry's direction. When she slowly returned her gaze to me, her expression was thoughtful.

"You know what," she said to me, a mixture of joy and determination rising in her voice, making me instantly weary (I mean, come on, this was _Ruth_ we were talking about). "I'm sick of this."

"Sick of what?" I asked, confused. If she meant the homework, then I had to agree. Snape had no right to assign us three rolls of parchment just because he couldn't properly fasten his own jacket. Why buy something with so many bloody buttons if you're not going to take the time to make sure they're all done up? It's just stupid!

"Sick of all of this," Ruth said, which really didn't clear up the whole confusion thing for me. "The whole boy meets girl, girl likes boy, girl frets for hours over whether the boy likes her back, girl goes insane thing. It's pathetic. I think, if two people like each other, they should screw all the awkward conversations and secretive looks and just tell each other. I mean, you've liked Harry for forever –"

"That's a bit of an overstatement." Which was a complete lie.

"- and yet here you are, pining over him while he is completely oblivious."

"I wouldn't exactly say pining." Again, another lie. Ruth, sensing this, ignored me.

"Imagine if you'd had the guts to tell him that you were completely in love with him three years ago?"

I didn't even bother to lie again by denying it. Instead, I murmured quietly, "It's not that simple."

"But it should be!" Ruth argued passionately, sitting up and slapping her fist into her palm in a rather intimidating way that had me shrinking behind my essay. "In fact –" Ruth rose to her feet, excitement dancing in her eyes as she hopped from one foot to the other, "I'm going to tell him."

My eyes widened. "Tell him what?"

"I'm going to march right up to Jayson in Arithmacy, push Prudence right back to her Huffie common room and tell Jayson exactly how I feel about him. That I think his dimples are cute, his Herbology jokes aren't funny but they make me laugh anyway, and that I want to be his girlfriend. And if he doesn't like it, he can kiss my buttocks."

I blink at Ruth several times, truly startled. "Ruth, are you – are you sure about this?"

"Yeah, I am," Ruth said, and then the determination on her face cracked slightly. "Why, do you think it's a suicidal idea?"

I opened my mouth to tell her that yes, I thought that her idea was crazy enough for me to consider putting her in a straight jacket, but what actually popped out of my mouth was, "no."

"Really?" Ruth quizzed, looking as shocked as I felt at my rather irrational outburst.

"No," I repeated, and this time I actually meant it. "No, I think it's a good idea. Why shouldn't you tell Jayson that you like him? It would make things a lot simpler. I think you should go for it."

"You really think that?"

"Yes."

"You don't think it will end up with me dying in a fit of red-faced embarrassment?"

"You don't embarrass easily, Ruth, you and I both know that."

"What do you think he'll say?"

"You won't know until you ask him."

Ruth nodded her head for several seconds. "I'm going to do it," she said, grinning at me, her hands fluttering nervously by her sides. "I'm going to tell Jayson I like him. Right now." She picked up the bag she had slung onto the floor and pushed her loose fringe out of her eyes while I pumped my fist in the air and shouted, "you go girl!" in a rather terrible American accent.

Ruth took three determined steps towards the portrait hole, paused, and then walked back over to me. "I want my breakfast first. Can't confess undying love to someone without Wheetabix. Are you coming?"

I looked down at my pathetic, ink-stained, half-done essay of absolute nonsense and exhaled hopelessly. I stowed it away in my bag and stood up. "Sure. I'm craving cornflakes, anyway."

* * *

"All righ', yer dismissed for th' day!" Hagrid yelled over the general chaos that was our Care of Magical Creatures lesson. An hour and a half ago, he had unleashed several green fluffballs of doom onto the class, whose only lesson objective was to, and I quote, "not get yeh fingers bitten of, or nuthin', 'cus I'm not too sure these things are Ministry approved."

"So we can go?" Olivia Hunt, a Ravenclaw who had spent the whole lesson trying to pry her fingers from between the fluffballs' unusually sharp teeth, yelled over the clamour of the Pumpkin Patch.

"Yeh, you can –" There was a scream of fright from behind one of Hagrid's humungous eggplants. "Jus' go!"

Not having to be asked twice, the majority of the class flooded from the pumpkin patch faster than Ron when confronted with a spider. Colin and I, being the annoyingly noble and honourable Gryffindors that we were, lagged behind.

"Do you need any help, Hagrid?" I asked, swatting away a fluffball that was nibbling on my elbow.

"Yeah, putting the – er, things – away," Colin finished, sending a dubious look at the tattered crates stacked up behind Hagrid's hut.

"Nah," Hagrid said breezily, oblivious to the fluffballs that were bouncing off his legs, their little pointy teeth gaining no purchase on his thick trousers. "I'll be alrigh'. You two go get yeh lunch."

"Okay. Er – good luck," I said, and then I followed Colin onto the path that led up to the castle.

"Flobberworms," Colin was muttering desperately, sucking at a rather nasty cut on the side of his hand. "Why can't we have done flobberworms?"

"Because flobberworms are boring."

"I'd rather have boring than deadly," Colin protested, waving his bloody hand in front of my face. I snorted eloquently.

"It's a cut, Colin, it's not going to kill you," I assured him while he frowned at me, and then I shuddered. "And those cotton wool buds were a lot better than the Blast Ended Skrewts –" Colin yelped and dropped his Care of Magical Creatures textbook "- from last year, so you have to admit Hagrid's getting better. Or less dangerous."

"Don't mention them things, Ginny, I still get nightmares," Colin said, and then he slapped his recently recovered textbook to his forehead. "Why did I even do Care of Magical Creatures? I hate creatures – magical or not!"

"Because," I reminded him, "it was either Care of Magical Creatures or Divination, and you know Professor Trelawney scares you more than any Blast Ended Screwt does."

"Her eyes are just unnaturally large!" Colin bursts, widening his own eyes in a pale imitation of Trelawney's super-sized orbs. "It's freaky."

I patted Colin helpfully on the shoulder as I pushed open the doors to the Entrance Hall, which was filled with the glorious smells of school lunch already being devoured by those lucky enough to escape lessons early. Colin and I bypassed the Great Hall and hurried up the marble staircase in our daily dash to dump our bags before going to eat. The common room was full of people hurrying in different directions, and after stowing my bag in the dormitory I went back downstairs to wait for Ruth.

"Are you coming, Ginny?" Colin called over the pre-lunch clamour, and I shook my head regretfully and said, "No, I'll wait for Ruth."

"Suit yourself," he said, and with a cheery wave of his uninjured hand he departed. I shrugged back into the armchair, blowing my fringe out of my eyes with exaggerated force. Ruth had practically bounced off to Arithmacy after break and had promised to tell me the '411', as the muggles would say, at lunch. It was now lunch, and Ruth was absent. My only explanation was that things had gone horribly wrong and Ruth had thrown herself off the top of the Astronomy tower. Or, Ruth had gone to lunch without me, in which case I was going to throw her off the top of the Astronomy tower. Either way, Ruth would end up in a jumbled heap on the ground and I would end up with an empty stomach.

While I was pondering Ruth's unfortunate demise and my imminent starvation, a familiar figure plopped himself onto the armchair opposite me.

"Hey, Ginny," Harry said, grinning at me. His robes were thrown haphazardly over his jumper, his tie was crooked and I could see the little woollen snitches on his socks peeking over his shoes, but he still made my stomach flop.

"Hi, Harry," I replied back smoothly. Our increasingly common conversations had made me quite practised at 'Conversing With Lover Boy No. 1' and I could now complete a twenty minute conversation without stumbling more than three times or spilling pumpkin juice all over myself.

"What're you doing?" he asked, pulling a piece of cotton from his sleeve.

I thought of all the love, starvation and death clouding my rather confusing life lately. "Just dealing with things far beyond my maturity level," I said breezily. To be honest, that wasn't too difficult, seeing as I tended to have the mindset of a five year old. Then I looked at Harry, all six foot of his Chosen One slash Boy Who Lived-ish, Triwizard Tournament winning, philosopher's stone saving, Chamber of Secrets discovering and You Know Who fighting self, and paled. "I mean, er –"

Harry, who had been smirking at me with one eyebrow arched, laughed. "I know how you feel," he said, still chuckling.

"So," I hurried on, smoothing out my skirt to hide the furious blush on my cheeks. "What're you doing?"

"Nothing, really. Trying to escape Ron, I suppose," he said, still smiling his adorable smile at me.

"I know he smells, Harry, but he is your best friend. You knew what you were getting in for when you sat next to him on the train."

"He sat next to me actually," Harry retorted, pulling a childish 'so there' face at me, which quickly turned into a laughing duck when I threw a scrunched up ball of parchment at him. "And anyway," he said, flicking the parchment-bomb back at me, "I'm not trying to hide from Ron because he smells –"

"Which he does."

"- I'm hiding because lately, wherever Ron is, Lavender is too," he finished, looking slightly disgruntled.

"Are you saying you don't like Lav-Lav?" I asked in mock shock, slapping a hand to my chest. "But she and Won-Won are so good together!"

Harry gave me a scathing smile and then exhaled heavily. "It's not that I don't like her –" In my opinion, Harry was far too nice, and should have just admitted that Lavender ranked just above cabbage on his Things Harry Likes list "- she's just a bit too loud for me. And she keeps trying to tell me about Ernie MacMillan's new girlfriend."

"Ernie has a girlfriend?" I asked bemusedly. It wasn't that Ernie was unattractive; I just didn't think any girl would want to wade through the pompousness to get close enough to ask him out. Though I suppose pompousness could be a turn on for some girls. Or something.

"Apparently," Harry said shrugging. "I didn't stick around long enough to hear details. But I think I've definitely reached my Lavender-Limit."

"I reckon you're jealous," I said, smirking at Harry's confused face. "You want Won-Won all to yourself."

"No thanks, Weasley," Harry retorted, mocking a Malfoy-worthy sneer (and yet still managing to look adorable). "Ginger hair isn't my thing."

No sooner had the words slipped out of Harry's mouth did he slap a hand over his lips, his eyes wide. I could practically hear him screaming 'bugger, bugger, bugger, bugger!' over and over in his head, while I pulled a face that said 'I'm going to pretend I didn't hear that and instead study the hem on my skirt until you have stopped internally screaming 'bugger, bugger, bugger, bugger!'.

One word: awkward.

"I don't – I didn't mean it like that – your hair is lovely – bugger." Harry winced, fumbling over each word as they tumbled from his mouth. Somehow, no doubt due to the copious amounts of play dough and crayons I had consumed throughout my childhood, I found the whole situation highly amusing. Harry was all but smashing his head against the wall and all I could do was stifle the giggles that bubbled to my lips.

After watching Harry struggle and mutter things like 'red, not ginger', 'nice – very nice' and 'bloody, stupid idiot' under his breath for several minutes, I decided to be kind and end his agony with a swift conversation change.

"Where's Hermione?" I asked over his continued unintelligible mutters.

"The library," he said quickly, straightening up.

"I should have guessed," I replied, rolling my eyes.

"She's probably catching up on her seventh year potions homework or something. Or, knowing her, she might even be doing her NEWTs."

I laughed. All of the awkwardness seemed to have seeped out of the common room, leaving only the smell of stale cauldron cakes and a rising hunger in my stomach. As if to confirming this, my stomach chose the moment to growl loudly.

"Why aren't you in lunch? Where's your friend? Ruth, is it?"

"I was actually just thinking the same thing," I grumbled moodily, craning my head to see the portrait hole, which had remained empty. "Ruth was meant to meet me here before lunch, but I have no idea where she is. And I'm starving."

"Right, that's it," Harry said boldly, pushing himself up from the chair, the image of Boy-Who-Saved-The-World-At-Least-For-Now-Because-Who-Knows-What's-Going-To-Happen-Next-Year-Especially-After-What-Trelawney-Has-Been-Saying-But-You-Shouldn't-Trust-Her-She's-An-Old-Coot-Edness. "I'm not waiting for Ron anymore. He'll probably be with Lav Lav anyway. Are you coming?"

I contemplated for several seconds before catching myself. What the Hell was I contemplating for? Harry-frickin'-Potter had just asked me on a date (okay, I realise it was so far from a date it was practically a grape, but there was food and people so I won by technicality) and I would kiss Millient Bulstrode's sweaty feet before I said no to Harry. Ruth could go to Hell, he was Harry-frickin'-Potter!

"Yeah, alright," I said, pushing my hair out of my face and getting to my feet. "I am hungry."

"I hope there's roast potatoes," Harry said as we emerged into the corridor, his voice joyfully thoughtful. "I'm in a potato mood."

My eyebrows arched over my eyes, a smirk tugging up my cheeks. "You're in a potato mood?" I repeated.

Harry blushed, a wonderful red colouring his cheeks. His eyes flickered to mine and his mouth opened to protest, then he paused and sighed. "I've been spending far too much time around Ron."

"You definitely have," I agreed, nodding savagely. "It's dangerous for you, Ron's a bloody prat." Harry gave my sudden anger a confused look, so I explained, "I still haven't forgiven him for calling me a scarlet woman."

"I don't think he meant it," Harry said, being typically noble and sticking up for his toss-potish best friend. "He was just angry."

"Ron, angry? But he's usually so cool and collected!" I said sarcastically, and Harry snorted. We entered the Great Hall, which was already packed, and found seats at the end of the Gryffindor table. After each of us piled our plates high with food, the conversation resumed.

"Ron just didn't like seeing you with Dean, because he reckons you could do better, because Dean's a bit of a prat, to be honest. He's just being, er - protective."

Having not realised Harry was so insightful when it came to Ron's feelings and deciding boys talked a lot more than us girls thought they did, I frowned. "Since when have you thought Dean was a prat?"

Harry's cheeks coloured again, and he seemed very absorbed in the chop he was cutting. "It's not that I don't like him, I just think he's a bit of a... prat, yeah. And Hermione reckons you two argue a lot." Harry finished his sentence in a blur of hurried words and then shoved a potato into his mouth to stop anymore from falling out.

I automatically started to deny Hermione's observation, and then stopped. This was Harry I was talking to - I didn't have to pretend everything was sunshine and daisies with him, because Heck, if there was one person who knew that not everything was sunshine and daisies it was You-Know-Who and Death Eaters Harry. Plus, Dean and I had had a three hour argument the day before about the colour of my socks.

"Yeah, I suppose we do argue a lot," I admitted, and then to make myself feel better, because I still hadn't forgiven him for calling my socks maroon, I added, "Dean is a prat."

"Why are you going out with him then, if you argue so much?" Harry blurted, stuffing another potato in his mouth - the first one obviously hadn't been big enough.

"It's... complicated," I said slowly.

"Try me," Harry managed around a mouthful of mash.

I twirled my fork around my gravy, creating constellations of floating peas, before answering. "Dean and I argue, yes, but I still want to be with him."

"How can you want to be with someone who makes you unhappy?" Harry asked, and his expression wasn't one of a merely curious person who was going to tell everyone he could what I had said over his singing toad in Charms (which was the beat class for a good gossip) the next day. His expression was of someone who actually cared. My stomach twanged, but not in the hyped butterfly way it usually did - this was different. Weird, but still nice.

I shook my head unnoticeably - I was going crazy.

I thought about what Harry had asked me, and even I couldn't understand my automatic answer: because I just can. Lately, Dean had been causing me more pain than happiness. For the past month the majority of our contact had been screaming at each other from opposite ends of the common room (much to the annoyance of everyone else) or sending each other the stink-eye to non-verbally convey our hatred for the other person. Why was I still with Dean? Being with him didn't bring me the happiness it used to, but the thought of being without him didn't make me feel the relief if should. It just made me feel kind of empty.

So I told Harry the truth. "I don't know."

Harry gave me a small smile tinged with sadness but didn't question me any further, which I was grateful for. My brain was already frazzled enough after double Potions and COMC and I didn't think it would be able to handle The Dean Question as well.

"Are Hermione and Pratty McPratterson still fighting?" I asked, popping a forkful of chicken pie into my mouth.

Harry snorted loudly. "When are they ever not fighting? Hermione's annoyed at Ron for going out with Lavender, though she'll never admit it, and Ron's still annoyed at Hermione for going to Slughorn's party with McLaggen, though he'll never admit it either." Harry rolled his eyes and then looked at me. "You Weasley's sure can hold grudges."

"Hey," I said, drawing myself up in indignation. "I resent that generalisation. I do not hold grudges."

"_I'm still annoyed at Ron for calling me a scarlet woman_," Harry mocked in a ridiculously high voice that I seriously hoped didn't mirror my own. "Which was, what, three months ago? That counts as a grudge to me."

Rather than answer, for fear that my voice might reach the shriek of a pubescent male mouse, I sent Harry a traditional Weasley glare. The grin on his face faltered instantly.

"Kidding, kidding," Harry said, splaying his palms in front of his face in weak defence. "Please don't kill me."

"You're lucky I'm in a good mood, Potter."

"You sound like Snape when you say that," Harry said, and while he shuddered I frowned - how had I gone from a teenage rodent to a greasy, middle-aged idiot in the space of four sentences? "Lacewing flies, Potter? I don't believe the ingredients mention adding them," Harry continued darkly in a rather good (scarily good) imitation of Snape. "I don't make exceptions for your celebrity status, Potter. Your father was an arrogant toss pot and so are you -"

"He said that?" I interrupted, my eyebrows dipping over my eyes. I couldn't imagine Snape, with his highly buttoned cloak and extensively chilling vocabulary, resorting to a word regularly used by Pratty McPratterson.

"I might have exaggerated that one," Harry said, grinning. "He did call me arrogant though," he added on defensively.

"When?"

"Last year, during those bloody ridiculous occlumency lessons," he replied, stabbing at his pie with a vengeance. "Fat lot of good they did."

"But, you haven't had many more -" I paused. Harry and I were friends (we were having lunch together, for Merlin's sake), but I didn't know whether we'd crossed the Hey-You're-Having-Freaky-Visions-About-He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named-Let's-Talk-About-That-Shall-We line. "You haven't had anymore, you know - dreams, have you?"

I waited for Harry's response with baited breath, ready to apologise for butting in at a second's notice. Harry, however, took a while to respond. He stopped stabbing his vegetables and instead twirled the stem of his fork through his fingers, studying it carefully. Finally, he looked up and me, curiosity in his eyes, and then sighed.

"No, I haven't," he answered finally, and my whole body swelled with relief. "But that doesn't necessarily have anything to do with occlumency. Do you remember at the Ministry, last year? Voldemort - oh, not you too -" I picked up the goblet I had dropped and vanished the pumpkin juice dripping from the table with red cheeks. "Anyway, do you remember when Voldemort tried to posses me - well, did posses me?"

"Yeah, I remember," I whispered, the memory robbing my voice of substance. Just seeing Harry - his face screwed up in agony, his lips forming words that didn't belong to him - had broken me, and it took all of my strength to suppress the vision as it fought its way to the surface of my mind.

"It might of worked, but it put Voldemort through a lot of pain. So much pain that Dumbledore doesn't think he'll even attempt it again. I'm also guessing -" Harry gave me a rueful smile "- that whatever Voldemort's doing at the moment, he's not prepared to show me."

He lapsed into silence, which turned into the awkward pause that usually follows a revelation as momentous and personal as that. The cricket-chirp type of pause.

"Harry," I started, unsure of where I was going but too socially incapable/awkward/retarded to stop. "You are okay, aren't you?"

"I'm fine," Harry replied, arching one eyebrow ever so slightly. I shook my head, one corner of my mouth tugging up in an empty smile.

"I mean, after what happened in summer, at the Ministry," I clarified, and then I ducked my head and continued in a rush before my brain could intervene. "I know we never really talked about it - I am only your best friend's little sister after all, and you have Hermione and Ron to talk to - but we never really said anything about it, you know? I wasn't sure how much I should say - I mean, I miss - Sirius too, and I never really talked about it with anyone. And I know that whatever you're doing with Dumbledore isn't my business at all, and I don't expect you to tell me, but I want you to know that just like at the Ministry, I'm right here if you need me. I'm not afraid to fight, if that's what it comes down to. And I just hope that you're okay - I mean, I want you to be alright. You are okay, aren't you?"

I closed my mouth firmly on the useless prattle that had been falling limply from my flapping mouth, my cheeks turning from red to purple under Harry's blank gaze. I pushed my knife and fork together and began to heave my bag onto my shoulder, ready to leave with the very last, and rather ragged, shred of dignity that remained within me, when Harry spoke.

"I'm okay, Ginny," he said softly. "Thanks."

And somehow, as if I had mysteriously received the only slither of talent Trelawney had in her, I knew Harry wasn't just thanking me for inquiring about his state of being - he was thanking me for everything.

"And you're not just Ron's little sister to me, Ginny," Harry said, craning his head downwards to glance at his shoe underneath the table. When his head reappeared, he was smiling slightly. "You really helped me out last year. You were the only one who told me to get a grip of myself when I was being a complete prat."

"You weren't being a complete prat -"

"I was," Harry objected vehemently. "I was being a miserable old sod, and I probably would have been for the whole year had it not been for you. So thank you."

"You're welcome," I replied, my cheeks aching with the strain of keeping the grin off my face. Harry and I both smiled like idiots for several moments too many to be considered normal social conduct. And then we smiled for several moments more, and began to attract curious glances from watching onlookers. Fortunately for me and my already crumbling reputation, one of those onlookers was Ruth, who was waving manically at me from the doorway of the Great Hall.

"I'm going to have to go, Harry," I cut in apologetically, snapping us both out of our smile-fest. He looked up at me as I rose to my feet and downed the last of my pumpkin juice. "Ruth's waiting for me, and she looks impatient."

"It's fine," Harry assured me, rubbing a hand through his tousled hair. "I should probably try and find Ron now anyway."

"Good luck with that," I said, grinning at him before turning around and hurrying over to Ruth.

"What was that?" she demanded as soon as I was within earshot.

"What was what?" I queried innocently, feigning stupidity.

"You and Harry having what looked like a pretty deep conversation over roast potatoes," Ruth said, over-emphasising every word until the sentence became the beginning of a modern day war chant.

"It was nothing." I shrugged, employing the age old technique of feigning nonchalance after a momentous occasion in order to prolong the utter brilliance of it and making the afore mentioned feign-ee look rather cool.

"Nothing my arse -"

"So what happened with you and Jayson?" I cut across quickly, successfully distracting Ruth. Her cheeks flushed a rosy pink and a wide smile split across her face.

"Nothing," she said, skipping away from me and prancing down the corridor.

"Nothing my arse!" I mocked, hurrying after her with the grace of a chubby, drunken leprechaun. "Tell me what happened!"

"We just talked," Ruth said, shrugging her shoulders delicately.

"About what?" I pressed.

"You know, our feelings and stuff."

"And?"

"And he may have mentioned something about liking me too."

"Oh, Ruth!" I squealed, hopping spastically in the air several times before throwing my arms around Ruth's neck and hugging her tightly. "I'm so happy for you! Wait - you have to tell me everything."

"I will do, once you stop strangling me," Ruth garbled from somewhere beneath my shoulder blade.

"Oh, sorry," I said, releasing her. She took several large gulps of air and massaged her neck. "So what happened?"

"Well, I couldn't talk to him in the lesson because bloody Professor Vector gave us a surprise test -"

"Prat."

"I know. So anyway, I couldn't talk to him in the lesson so I waited until we were let out and told Jayson I needed to talk to him -"

"Just like that?"

"Yes, just like that. Stop interrupting me."

"Sorry."

"So anyway, I told Jayson I needed to talk to him and he suggested that we go for a walk -"

"Oh, how romantic!"

"Ginny."

"_Sorry._"

"We talked for a bit, about school and stuff, you know, just general things. And then I just came out with it."

"Just like that?"

"Just like that," Ruth said slowly. We were wandering aimlessly down a second floor corridor, not heading in any particular direction and in no rush to arrive at a destination. "I told him I was finding it too hard to keep my feelings from him and that if he didn't feel the same way then it didn't matter, I just really needed to tell him."

"What did he say?"

"I'm going to tell you now. He was quiet for a few seconds, and at first I thought he wasn't going to say anything and I started to panic. But then he started laughing."

"Laughing?"

"_Ginny, shut up!_"

"Sorry, sorry!"

"Anyway, apparently Jayson's liked me since last year -"

"I knew it! I knew he did!"

"Do you want to tell the story _for_ me, Ginny?"

"Sorry, I'm just excited."

Ruth paused to roll her eyes. "He said that even though we weren't particularly friendly last year, he still had a bit of a crush on me. And then this year, when we started talking to each other, he realised his feelings for me were more than just a crush."

I sighed loudly and Ruth narrowed her eyes at me.

"That wasn't technically speaking," I objected defensively.

"Whatever. So after he'd told me that we talked and walked a bit more, and then..."

"And then?" I prompted, for Ruth was studying her shoes with peculiar interest.

"And then he might have, you know - kissed me."

I let out a shout of delight that was somewhere between a scream and a squeal and threw myself on Ruth again. "I'm so proud of you!" I blubbered pathetically, the image of my mother after Percy had received his Head Boy badge and Fred and George had been allowed back to Hogwarts for another year.

"Ginny, calm down! Control yourself, woman!" Ruth stuttered, throwing out her arm to balance the both of us against the wall. "It was just a kiss."

"I know," I said, taking several moments to regain my composure (ha, composure) and straighten my uniform. "I'm just happy for you."

"It's not that big of a deal, Ginny," Ruth said, arching a Wow-You-Really-Are-Crazy eyebrow at me.

"Yes it is!" I objected, my voice halfway between a cry and a whine. "You've got your happy ending - you've been transfigured back from a frog into a human and now you're going out with the prince and living in a gingerbread house."

"You've got it the wrong way round," Ruth told me as we ambled up the staircase that would take us to the third floor. "The prince is the frog."

"Why would you want to go out with a frog?"

"Never mind."

"You are going out with him, aren't you?" I asked Ruth with the scrutinising eye of Madame Hooch on Quidditch final day. "Jayson, that is. Not a frog."

"We're meeting up after dinner to 'discuss' it," Ruth said, framing the word 'discuss' with little finger speech marks. "But basically, yes."

"Gah, I'm so jealous of you." I exhaled heavily, blowing my fringe out of my eyes with a strong puff of air. "I want my knight in shining armour."

"You seemed pretty close to him today," Ruth said, bumping her hip into mine and sending me stumbling slightly to the side. "You and Harry were very chatty at lunch."

"We were just talking," I repeated, my voice still flat with disappointment at the lack of armoured men in my life.

"About what?"

"Just general stuff, really," I said, shrugging. "Well, towards the end we got onto the subject of You Know Who and what happened at the Ministry last year."

"Ooh," Ruth said, wincing. "Serious stuff."

"Mhm." Somehow, we had unconsciously wandered towards the charms corridor and, despite being ten minutes early for our afternoon lesson, we shrugged against the wall and waited. "He really is dealing with a lot of crap at the moment."

"He's Harry Potter," Ruth said simply. She let her bag drop off her shoulders and slid down the wall into a seated position. "When is he not dealing with crap?"

"I suppose. I just -" I sighed. Admitting the fact in my head was bad enough, but voicing my doubt aloud was like telling Percy that his report on cauldron bottoms was actually not bad. A very painful experience. "I really don't think a girlfriend is good for Harry at the moment."

"What?" Ruth demanded, her eyes widening substantially. "You're joking, right?"

I shook my head. "No, I'm not," I said defensively, as she was looking at me the way an outsider might look at Trelawney. And Dumbledore. Together. "Harry's going through a lot right now, as ridiculously Jimmy Singer -"

"Jerry Springer."

"- as that sounds. I really don't think he needs the added hassle of a girlfriend. And, let's face it, I'm not the easiest person to be with. Sometimes, when I'm not busy hating him, I even feel sorry for Dean."

"But that's why Harry needs you," Ruth argued desperately. "To help him get through all the shit in his life. Plus, you can't give up now - he's your knight in a shining Gryffindor tie! You're in love with him!"

"But that's just it," I said, my voice dropping off the defensive scale and landing in a rather small and pathetic pile below it. "Harry's not a knight in shining armour to me anymore. I don't like him because he's Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, or for any other of the thousands of reasons that make him attractive to everyone else."

"What do you mean?" Ruth said slowly.

"I don't know," I grumbled, and then I threw my hands into the air. "I like him despite the fact that his ability to attract danger from a mile away worries me to madness, and despite the fact that he has a temper, and despite the fact that he hardly ever wears matching socks because he can't be bothered to. I don't care about what he's done in the past, I care about what he's going to have to do in the future. I'm scared for him. And if having a girlfriend is going to put him under unnecessary stress or danger, then I'm just going to forget about it."

"But Ginny, you really like him," Ruth urged.

"I know," I said, shrugging a shoulder. "Enough to do what I think it best for him, even if it means I don't get what I want."

My eyes met Ruth's, and she stared at me for a long time. She sighed in resignation and shook her head. "Fine. But I still don't agree with you."

"That's fine by me," I said, but Ruth disregarded my statement with a roll of her eyes.

"I don't think a girlfriend would put unnecessary stress on Harry. I think he needs you. And I'm willing to bet Hermione does too."

I shrugged again, turning my face away from hers as the remaining fifth years flooded down the corridor and began to mill around us, waiting for Flitwick to arrive. Bobbing along behind them was Luna.

"Hey, Luna," Ruth called when it was obvious that my mouth was officially closed on the matter of Harry, waving a hand to beckon her over. "Where've you been? We haven't seen you all **chapter** day."

"I've been talking to Prudence about her and Ernie."

"Wait - _Prudie_ is going out with Ernie Macmillan?"

"Ha!" I said, sticking my tongue out at Ruth. In return, she shoved my shoulder and I tumbled from my upright-seated position and landed on my bum on the floor.

Don't tease Ruth. Point taken.

"Yes, she is," Luna affirmed, offering me and absent hand. When I had struggled to my feet and shot Ruth a rather filthy look for pushing me over, Luna continued. "I was offering her my plimpie soup recipe. It's known to increase attractiveness."

"Why doesn't everyone use it then?" I asked curiously, ignoring Ruth's muttered "because plimpies don't bloody exist."

"Because there are some side affects," Luna said casually, waving an indifferent hand. "Moderate to severe hair loss, stunted growth and possible prolonged unconsciousness."

Ruth snorted loudly. "How likely are these side affects?" I interrogated.

"Not very likely. Only about seven in ten people actually experience them. And only five of them went _completely_ bald."

Flitwick bobbed around the corner and the scattered students began to file into the classroom. Ruth let out a shout of laughter as she shouldered her bag. "Did you tell Prudie that?"

"No," Luna said, looking confused. "Do you think I should have?"

"Nah," Ruth said as the three of us chose our usual seats at the back of the classroom. "Just don't come crying to us when she ends up looking like Dobby."

* * *

**A/N****: I know, it has been an ice age since I last updated. Though, to be fair, I did just give 7,386 words of Ginny/Harry fluffiness. Doesn't make my updating habits any less crappy, but who can say no to a bit of Ginny/Harry? :)**

**Also, due to the fact that I wanted to update this chapter as quickly as I could, it's full of mistakes. I also wrote it whilst on holiday without the aid of my trusty HBP or OOTP book, so it's probably rather non-cannon-ish.**

**(Also, a Captain Obvious Cookie for whoever can spot the AVPS reference.)**


	22. Chapter 22: Merriment

**A/N****: 'Sup.**

**_Disclaimer: None of the characters (except for Jayson, Ruth and the delightful Nathanial) are mine!_**

**_

* * *

Chapter 22 - Merriment_**

It was official. Ruth and Jayson were more loved up than Draco Malfoy and his reflection.

Not that I minded or anything. Jayson was a nice boy and thought the sun shined out of Ruth's ass, and I would take happy, frolicking Ruth over woeful, sugar-craving Ruth any day of the week. I just couldn't help but feel a twinge of depression and unreasonable jealously whenever I saw them together, practically radiating sappiness while I sat in the corner scowling like Scrooge. I wasn't jealous of Jayson - not that he wasn't a lovely fellow, but brown hair wasn't really my thing - I was jealous of how infallibly happy he made Ruth feel, whereas Dean - Dean just pissed me off.

It wasn't even like a slight irritation at the little things he did anymore - it was a feeling of down-right bone-deep annoyance whenever he breathed, which he did in an incredibly exasperating way, all huffs and puffs and pants. I had been feeling especially off with him since the extravagant Valentine's Day surprise Jayson had thrown for Ruth (in a nutshell, it involved enough roses to be a health hazard, several singing cupids and more pink than I would care to remember), whereas Dean had merely chucked a box of half eaten chocolates at me and said, and I quote, 'sorry, I got hungry on the way down'.

About as romantic as Filch's left toe.

Even Nathanial, my creepy and possibly psychotic stalker, had managed to muster up more sentiment than him. He had followed me around at all possible times of the day, showering me with little pink pieces of confetti and reciting Shakespeare sonnets like there was no tomorrow. In the end, I had offered him my half eaten box of worst-present-ever Valentine's chocolate in exchange for him leaving me alone. Nathanial, obviously misinterpreting my bribe, had burst into floods of tears, hugged me for several minutes and then pranced away, leaving me depressed and sugar-less.

But, that was all behind me now. It was over two weeks later and I had pretty much pushed the fiasco that had been Valentine's Day out of my mind. However, as per usual, my life had thrown another hurdle at me just as I was regaining my balance. Today, the first of March, was Ronniekins's birthday. Typically, because I was in possession of two X chromosomes and generally brilliant, I had picked out a fantastic birthday present for Ron months ago - that is, before he had called me a dirty slut (or words to that effect).

And so, Saturday morning found me sat on my bed, staring down at the neatly wrapped parcel in my hands (courtesy of Luna, who couldn't keep hold of her sanity for shit but could work wrapping paper like a pro), deliberating whether to actually give my wonderful present to the prat.

It had been almost two months since the dreaded incident (which, in light of recent events, I now wholeheartedly blamed Dean for, the bloody git) and any normal person would probably have forgiven Ron by now. Though, I supposed 'normal' was the operative word. Still, the present had cost me quite a bit of money and I wasn't going to waste in on a grudge. Besides, if I got a good angle I could probably lob it hard enough at Ron's head to cause a good deal of pain and, hopefully, concussion.

I pushed myself up off my bed. Ruth had skipped down to meet Jayson for breakfast several minutes ago, and I had decided to give them a bit of time to get their sap out of the way before I trudged down. When I got down to the common room, however, they had already left. There was no sign of Ron, Hermione or Harry either. There was, however, a sign of -

"Hey, Ginny," Dean said, slouching up to me. "Said happy birthday to your brother yet?"

"No, haven't seen him," I replied, barely suppressing a sigh of uttermost annoyance at his mere presence next to me.

Mine and Dean's relationship was practically over. He knew it. I knew it. He knew that I knew it. I knew that he knew that I knew it. He knew that I knew that he knew that I knew it. I knew that he knew that -

Whatever. It was over. Yet, for some inexplicable and maddening reason, both of us grasped on to the tattered slither that was left like it was the last piece of pumpkin pie. I wasn't just him this time - despite my best efforts, I couldn't manage to let go either. Whether it was just mutual reluctance to sit down and make the decision to end things or unwillingness to be without someone, even if it was someone who made you want to throw yourself into a crate of Blast-Ended Skrewts, neither of us made the effort to move forwards, and since neither of us wanted to move backwards, we remained in the same place. Miserable and stuck.

"I guess you're going down to breakfast then," Dean said.

"Yeah. Have you already been?"

Dean nodded.

"I'll see you later then," I said, sending him a jerky half-nod of goodbye before making my way out of the common room. Luckily I found Hermione sitting alone at the end of the Gryffindor table in the Great Hall, staring morosely into a bowl of soggy corn flakes. I sat down opposite her and as her head shot up she plastered a cheery smile onto her face.

"Morning, Ginny!" she said, falsely bright. Resisting the urge to arch my eyebrows (if Hermione was happy to pretend like everything was fine then I wasn't going to stop her - Hell, I wasn't exactly a poster-child for dealing with confrontation, was I?) I replied,

"Morning, Hermione. Have you seen Ron?"

"No," Hermione replied almost instantly, straightening the cutlery next to her plate. "Why would I have seen him?"

"I don't know, I was just wondering," I said. I dropped the present onto the table. "It's his birthday, isn't it? I wanted to, you know, give him his present."

Hermione gave a minuscule, guilty grimace-smile in response and gestured to the neat little package on the other side of her plate.

"I was going to leave Ron's at the bottom of a deep well filled with crocodiles."

"Damn, why didn't I think of that?"

"Harry hasn't been down either. I'm guessing they're still upstairs. Probably sleeping in."

"Boys."

"Speaking of -" Hermione started, her melancholy fading as the conversation moved away from Ron. "Where's Dean?"

"In the common room," I said simply, munching on a piece of toast with a little too much force. Hermione's eyebrows cocked up knowingly.

"Are you two still fighting?"

"When are we ever not fighting, Hermione?"

"You never used to fight. In the beginning."

"Yeah, that was before I realised what an idiotic, self-centred, big-headed toss pot he was."

"So you're going to break up with him?"

I shrugged my shoulders in a vague I-suppose-I-should-but-not-really answer. Hermione gazed away down the Great Hall, watching the merry, untroubled youths go about their merry weekend tasks with merry little smiles. Merrily. I saw the Gears of Knowledge (something Hermione possessed in excess and Harry, Ron and I severely lacked) working inside her head. She narrowed her eyes, pursed her lips and turned back to me.

"Have you spoken to Harry lately?"

"Yeah," I said. And, I noted inwardly with pride, without spilling anything on myself. "Why?"

"Well, do you remember at the beginning of the year -"

"I can barely remember what I had for breakfast yesterday," I snorted.

"I've noticed you've been spending a lot of time with him lately..." she said as if I had never spoken. I, busy trying to remember whether it had been porridge or cornflakes - or potentially kippers - didn't immediately get onto her implications until she widened her eyes substantially in my direction. "Do you not think it's time to maybe - you know, DO something about it?"

"Hermione," I groaned, dropping my head into my hands. "I gave up on that whole operation thing a long time ago. I can't even remember what the bloody this was called."

"Of course you can't, it was ridiculously long."

"I'm impractical when I'm love sick. Anyway, I've given up on any chance of me and Harry becoming a thing. You know that."

"I thought we'd established I didn't exactly agree with it though." Hermione raised one grim eyebrow, fixing me in a hard stare that made me want to cower and agree with her just to prevent her from hexing me to pieces. "You gave up because you though Harry didn't need a girlfriend. Which I still disagree with. And now that Dean isn't a problem -"

"I'm still with Dean, you know," I reminded her pointedly.

"You just said you hated him," Hermione smirked.

"Technicalities," I grumbled under my breath.

"You still like Harry, don't you?" Hermione asked briskly, all business despite the toast crumbs on her tie.

"Stupid question, Granger."

"I'm going to take that as a yes." Hermione studied the table beneath her, carefully casual as she neatened the creases in her skirt. "I think he likes you too, you know."

"I should bloody hope so, I haven't given him and reason not to like me."

Hermione sent me a flat look that told me that she thought I was being dense. Which I probably was. But, it was early in the morning, and I didn't usually reach my maximum depth until around lunch time.

"No, I mean I think he likes you. As in, in his own Operation: Ridiculously Impossible To Remember way."

I snorted in Hermione's face.

"Right. I think you've spent too much time inhaling fumes in the potions classroom, Hermione. You're starting to sound like Luna."

"I'm being serious, Ginny!"

"So am I. You're crazy. I fear for your sanity."

Hermione gave me a look that could flatten Hagrid's rock cakes, which was saying something (one of them still owed me a tooth).

"Why is it such a ridiculous concept to you?"

"Why is it such a plausible concept to you?"

"You're brilliant, Ginny!"

"Gee, thanks, Hermione. I think you're pretty gosh darn amazing too."

"Can you not have a serious conversation for five minutes?"

"Nope. One of my many flaws, actually. You can add that to the 'Reasons It's A Ridiculous Concept' list. Oh, what's that? Weasley one, Granger nil?"

"Ginny, you're being stupid. Ginny - Ginny - stop dancing, Ginny! You haven't won anything! I'm trying to - oh great, now there's milk all over the floor. Look - bloody Hell - will you stop waving your arms around before you knock something else over? You can't even dance - exactly like your brother -! Hey, where are you going?"

Sure, I couldn't wrap parcels for shit, but I was a damned good escape artist.

* * *

When I did finally locate Ron he wasn't exactly where I'd imagined he would be. At least, not before I'd caused him present-related concussion. And not because of mead-related poisoning.

So, when Harry bowled into me in the Entrance Courtyard to tell me that Ron was in the Hospital Wing, my mind presented me with the bizarre idea that Hermione and her crocodiles had already got to him before it registered Harry babbling about love potion and poison and Slughorn as he dragged me off to the Hospital Wing. When we reached it, however, the doors were jammed shut.

"Where is he?" I demanded, watching Harry give the door handle a helpless tug.

"In there," Harry said, jerking his head towards the door. "But they won't let me in. Pomfrey said I needed to wait here while she - while she treated him."

He flopped against the wall on the other side of the door and slid downwards, finally collapsing onto the floor with his knees tucked into his chest. I followed him instinctively, the more rational Ginny, whose honourable thoughts were completely on her sick brother, triumphing over crazy Ginny, who was busy squeeing. Rather loudly.

"What happened, Harry?"

Harry took in a deep breath of air, seeming to momentarily vacuum-ise the corridor, and then exhaled.

"Well," he started, picking at the dog-eared toes of his trainers. "Ron was opening his presents this morning and he picked up a box full of Chocolate Cauldrons that had fallen off his bed, and he presumed they were his -"

"Typical."

"- so then he started eating them."

"And the chocolate was poisoned?" I gasped.

"No." Harry shook his head. "Well, not really. It wasn't your bog-standard box of chocolates, like. You know that girl in the year below, Romilda Vane?"

A snort on my part was answer enough.

"Well, before Christmas, she spiked the Chocolate Cauldrons with a love potion -"

"For Ron?" I interrupted, my ensuing frown pulling my whole brow downwards. "But she's always made fun of my hair -"

"Not for Ron," Harry corrected, a ghost of a smirk managing to fight its way onto his face. "She gave them to me."

Oh, that pumpkin pastie was going down.

"I didn't eat them, though -"

"Understandably."

"- but they must have strengthened over the Christmas holidays, because -" Harry paused for a meek grimace. "Ron was obsessed."

"But - how did he go from Romilda to the Hospital Wing?" I demanded.

"Well, after I'd figured out what had happened I took him to see Professor Slughorn and he brewed an antidote to the love potion -"

"It was the antidote that poisoned him, then!" I cried, my eyes narrowing instantly. "I always knew that Sluggy was a dodgy fellow -"

"No, Ginny," Harry said, grinning a little crookedly. "Calm down. The antidote was fine. It was Slughorn's post pick-me-up that was the problem."

The grin faded from Harry's face and his head flopped downwards. "He gave all three of us glasses of this mead he had in his office. Ron drank his first and then he just - he just dropped, like he'd collapsed. Then he was having some sort of fit, and Slughorn was just standing there -"

I listened in opened-mouthed horror, the situation seeming a lot more real when I could see the emotions replaying so clearly across Harry's face as he spoke.

"What - what did you do?" I whispered. Harry's sigh was enormous.

"A bezoar. I'd read something about them, and Slughorn had one in his potions kit. I wasn't even sure it would work, I just put it in Ron's mouth and hoped for the best... Good job it worked."

Before I had any conscious thought of doing it my hand rose to Harry's forearm, resting on the scratchy wool of his Weasley jumper. "You saved him, Harry."

Harry shook his head vehemently. "I was just in the right place at the right time."

The sounds of hurrying footsteps made us both look up - Hermione skidded to a flying stop right in front of us, her cheeks blotched red and her eyes bright.

"Professor Slughorn -" she wheezed. "Told me what happened. Is Ron - where - is he okay?"

"I think so," Harry replied, nodding. Hermione crossed her arms over her chest, seeming at loss for what to do with herself. She looked awfully small standing before us, panting hard.

"What, um - what happened?"

Harry sucked in another deep gulp of air and began to recite the story, almost word for word, as he had done for me, and no doubt as he had done for Dumbledore, Pomfrey and McGonagall. By the time he was finished several moments later (Hermione hadn't interrupted as much as I had), Hermione had slid into a silent seated position on Harry's other side.

"He'll be fine, Hermione," I reassured her. "When has Madame Pomfrey ever not been able to help someone?"

When Hermione didn't speak, Harry added on, "he's probably in there complaining about the whole thing now."

Harry's assurance might have helped had the only noise echoing from inside the Hospital Wing not been dead silence. As if to try and cover the distinct lack of voices, I asked Harry rather loudly,

"Who do you reckon did it? Poisoned the mead?"

Harry shrugged. "No bloody clue. Can't imagine it was Slughorn."

"My next guess would be Snape, but why would Snape want to kill Ron? I mean, sure, he's a bloody toss pot but -"

"Slughorn originally meant to give the mead to Dumbledore as a Christmas present," Harry announced suddenly, as if just remembering. "Ron might not have been Snape's target."

"But Dumbledore trusts Snape," I said quietly, well aware of Harry's fierce animosity towards old Snapey. "Snape couldn't -"

From the dark look that clouded Harry's usually bright eyes, I guessed Harry vehemently believed that Snape could and would. Silence swelled through the empty corridor again.

"I bet it was Dean," I grumbled after a while. Trust Dean to poison my brother in a mad revenge attempt after I told him he breathed like a hippo. _Which he doe_s. "It's always Dean."

* * *

Several hours later found the three of us were sat in the same stony positions. I shifted slightly in place - my buttocks were seriously cramping. I considered getting up for a walk but I didn't exactly think Harry would be impressed by my cramping derrière so I remained quiet, wiggling occasionally to try and ease the pain.

Suddenly, the sound of scurrying feet on stone floor broke the quiet that had fallen around us and, three seconds later, Lavender came flying down the corridor. She threw herself at the Hopsital Wing door, banging her fists against the wood and sobbing uncontrollably.

Er.

"Er, Lavender?" Harry said, a little tentatively. Lavender spun around, as if noticing our silent vigil for the first time.

"Harry!" she cried. "Where's my Won-Won? What happened to him? Is he okay?"

"He's in there," Harry said, jerking his head towards the closed door in front of Lavender. She grasped the handle and tried to pull it open, her squeaky shoes slipping on the floor when it didn't give. "They won't let us in," Harry added on after the three of us had spent several minutes watching her throw herself against the door in a bid to break through.

"Why not?" she demanded.

"They're treating him," Harry said. "I guess they don't want us in the way."

"They'll let me in," Lavender said prissily, straightening her elaborate curls and tweaking her sleeves of her jumper, though in our eyes she had lost any dignity she possessed when she started trying squeeze herself through the impossibly small gap underneath the door. She turned suddenly on us, her eyes blazing. "I'm his girlfriend! I'm practically family!"

"Practically family?" I repeated, raising my eyebrows. What was I, the next door neighbour?

"They have to let me see him!" Lavender went on dramatically as if I hadn't spoken. So, apparently, I was just invisible. "I'll die if anything's happens to him!"

"Let's not get our hopes up," I muttered. Harry snorted beside me. Lavender (once again ignoring me) misinterpreted Harry's stifled chuckle and flew to the ground opposite him, clasping his hands in hers.

"Don't worry, Harry!" she sobbed, trying to pull him into a hug. Harry looked alarmed. "Don't cry - we must be strong for Won-Won! We'll get through this together."

"Er -" Harry said, dissembling himself from Lavender's grip. "Thanks, Lavender."

I could practically hear Hermione's teeth grinding together.

"Look," Harry said kindly. "Why don't you go back to the common room and have a lie down. They'll probably be a while in there. I'll come and get you if anything else happens."

"Oh, Harry!" Lavender cried, trying to hug him again. "Ron's lucky he has us."

"Yeah," Harry said, patting Lavender awkwardly on the back. "We're a real prize."

"Promise me you'll send someone to get me when he wakes up?" Lavender pressed, pushing herself to her feet. Harry nodded, and the three of us remaining on the floor (with cramped buttocks) watched her leave with looks of mingled confusion and disgust.

"She's mad," Harry said eventually.

"Dean's madder."

"So, all in all, not one of Ron's better birthdays?"

Hello, Captain Obvious!

At around half six, shortly after the spectacle with Lavender, Mum and Dad had arrived, accompanied by Dumbledore himself, and had been automatically let into the Hospital Wing. Harry and I had instantly returned to obsessing over who had tried to poison Ron (- "it was definitely Dean, I'm telling you!" "Why would Dean want to kill Ron?" "Because he's an ass!") while Hermione had remained frightfully silent. Eventually, after what had seemed like hours, Mum and Dad had emerged from the Hospital Wing and, after assuring us that Ron was going to be alright, had disappeared off to Dumbledore's office. It had been another hour before Pomfrey had given in to mine and Harry's pathetic begging and let us in. George and Fred had appeared several minutes later.

"This isn't how we imagined handing over our present," George intoned, indicating to the elaborately wrapped gift in his hand. He plonked it onto the cabinet beside Ron, who was sleeping, and sat down on a stool beside me. I automatically let my head drop onto his shoulder - it had been a long day.

"Yeah, when the pictured the scene, he was conscious," said Fred.

Even with the addition of Fred and George, who were pros in the art of plotting and subterfuge, none of us could shed any light on Ron's poisoner. Fred seemed certain that Slughorn was a Death Eater, whereas I couldn't imagine any self-respecting Death Eater going to pieces after a wasp had flown into his classroom. Hagrid (following his arrival) introduced the idea that someone was trying to bump off the Gryffindor quidditch team - given the melodramatic tendencies of the Slytherins, I didn't rule that suggestion out completely. Finally, our speculating was put to and end with the reappearance of Mum and Dad, who told us to let Ron get some rest (not that his unconscious form had taken any particularly strenuous part in the discussion) and go back to the common room or, in Fred and George's case, to their flat.

I walked back to the common room alone, Harry and Hermione having left with Hagrid earlier, feeling a sense of loneliness wash over me. I was immensely relieved knowing that Ron was going to be alright, but I still couldn't help the feeling of sadness and pessimism that swelled inside me as I followed the familiar path up to the Gryffindor tower.

What if Harry hadn't thought of the bezoar? What if Slughorn hadn't even had a bezoar? Or, simply, what if Harry had been too late? Ron could have died. Ron would have died. He would have died thinking I hated him, not knowing how much I loved him - which, despite him being an arrogant prat, I really did. I was suddenly incredibly angry at myself, and I felt the sickening pang in my stomach that I had 'dodged a bullet', gotten incredibly lucky, and vowed, there and then in that deserted corridor, to never again let something as stupidly simple as an argument turn into a full-blown grudge.

The common room was busy but subdued when I finally reached it. Most eyes flew automatically to me as I stepped through the portrait hole - it seemed that, as of tonight, not only was I 'the freaky red-head who talks to herself', I was now 'the freaky red-head who talks to herself and whose brother was poisoned in Slughorn's office'.

Great. Like I needed any more labels.

"Ginny?"

I turned around. Dean was standing behind me, looking tentative and nervous. He shuffled around on the thick carpet, glancing down at his toes. He looked so innocent that I momentarily forgot to hate him. "I heard about Ron. Is he - is he okay?"

"No," I replied quietly, crossing my arms over my chest, hugging myself. "But he will be."

Dean's eyes flickered up to mine. "Are you okay?" he asked.

My first reaction was to nod, tell him I was fine, politely excuse myself and then run up to my dormitory and sob in the privacy of my bed hangings. But there was something about Dean, about the sweet, sincere side that shone through the bullshit every so often, that instantly made my strength crumble around me. I shook my head, my vision blurring as damn tears threatened to leak from my eyes.

"Oh, Ginny," Dean said instantly, pulling me into his arms without any preamble, engulfing me in a bear hug that I didn't have the energy to resist. His chin dropped to the top of my head. "Don't worry," he said, rocking me gently. "It'll all be fine."

"I still hate you, you know," I mumbled into his chest, inhaling his warmth.

I could practically hear Dean grinning. "Yeah, I know," he murmured back. "I hate you too."

* * *

**A/N****: So, who wishes that had been Harry at the end? *raises hand***

**I realised that this is the first chapter I've updated since the DH Part 1 film came out (I know that sounds terrible, please don't kick my derriere) and I have to say I really liked it :) I think they did it justice! What did you guys think?**

**I also realised while writing this chapter (lots of realisations today) that I'm over halfway through the HBP book. That makes me kind of sad.**

**I've also started re-editing some of the earlier chapters (in particular, chapters 5-8 today) because they are so embarrassingly bad sometimes it makes me kind of want to cry. I reckon I became a grammar fiend somewhere about chapter 18, so the one's earlier than that sort of break my heart. So if you're planning to reread at any point, now would probably be a good time :) **

**Toodlepip.**

**_[ADDED EDIT TO ORIGINAL CHAPTER POST: I forgot to thank everyone for your reviews on the last chapter! I've just been reading over them and they make me so happy :) Also, shout out to NOIP ('no one in particular' - who, by the way, still refuses to sign in so I can't reply to their reviews personally) who back in July remembered that it would have been my birthday soon, so thank you :) Also, I am going to make a very strong attempt to reply to EVERY SINGLE REVIEW for this chapter, just so ya'll know. That is all.]_**


	23. Chapter 23: Oh Dear

**A/N: Oh yes, you're seeing correctly, and update in LESS THAN THREE DAYS.**

**It's so hard being brilliant.**

**_Disclaimer: The characters are JKR's, the crazy things that come out of their mouths are mine._**

**_

* * *

Chapter 23 - Oh Dear_**

****"Right - well, I think it's safe to say that I am a _little_ more experienced than the rest of you when it comes to quidditch. I used to practice with my great uncle Flatherby, you see, and he used to play for Pride of Portree - did I ever tell you chaps that - ?"

"Only like a thousands times..."

"If only it were true."

" - so, obviously, my knowledge is vital to this team's success. Uncle Flatty always did say that knowledge was the key to a quidditch team's success - apart from the Keeper, of course -"

_Oh my Merlin, shut up._

"Don't get me wrong, the other players are important too, but it's a well known fact that the Keeper is the _most_ important player -"

_Shut up before I rip my ears off and use them to choke you._

" - you see, _most_ people believe that the Seeker is the crucial element of any team, but a _real_ quidditch player knows that's not true. Oh, speaking of Seekers, Harry, I need to go over your technique with you, I think there's a few things that still need perfecting -"

_I wonder what Harry's views are about strangling team members. Though, by the expression on his face, he might not need much convincing, he looks about ready to kill McLaggen himself. Ooh - Harry looks sexy when he's angry. He really has the smouldering glare down to a fine art._

" - so we'll do that after I've shown the Beater's what they're doing wrong; I really don't know how you've won _any_ games so far, they really are awful -"

McLaggen's stream of bullshit was halted rather abruptly by Peakes, who whacked him in the face with a Beater's bat. Fortunately, or rather, _un_fortunately, the team's brooms were hovering only several metres above the ground at that point, so McLaggen didn't have far to fall before he hit the grassy pitch with a resounding 'thud'.

There was a beat of silence, in which the six remaining members of the team stared down at his motionless form, and then -

"Oh dear," said Demelza flatly.

"Dibs not taking him to the Hospital Wing," Coote said quickly.

"He'll be fine in a bit," Harry said nonchalantly, tilting his head to the side to get a better look.

"Are you sure?" Dean asked, though he didn't seem too nervous, merely curious. "He hasn't moved in a while."

"Give him time," Harry said. We were floating in a circle in the middle of the qudditch field, having to squint slightly in the semi-darkness. We had just finished our last practice before tomorrow's match when McLaggen had called us all together for a 'team talk', which had largely consisted of him talking out of his buttocks and the rest of us yawning and trying not to hit him - a temptation that Peakes was the first to give in to.

"Maybe he's dead," I interjected after a while, a little too hopefully for it to be taken in complete jest.

"Unfortunately, we sort of need him," Harry said, glancing up at me with a disgruntled expression. "We're steadily running out of Keepers."

"They are _the most important players _," Peakes muttered sarcastically, swinging his bat ominously over his shoulder.

The silence that followed - in which we all waited patiently for McLaggen to regain consciousness - I broke eventually with my typically infallible knack for saying what everyone else was thinking, but was too polite to say. "He's an asshole."

There was a chorus of agreements.

"Do we really _need _ a Keeper?" Demelza asked. "I mean, we _are _ playing Hufflepuff."

"I want to batter Smith though," Harry said, obviously torn between the vindictive pleasure he would get leaving McLaggen (potentially dead) on the floor and the vindictive pleasure he would get watching Zacharias Smith cry.

"We can batter Smith without a Keeper," I objected, shrugging at Harry. "Just ambush him before the game, throw a few well-placed jinxes. I know a Bat-Bogey hex that'll do just fine. It's worked on him once before."

Harry chortled his cute, cheek-lifting chortle. "Unfortunately, Gin, I think that's against the rules."

Dear Merlin.

Harry had just called me _Gin _. We had _nicknames _ for each other now? Well, he had a nickname for me, I still didn't have one for him. Damn - what can Harry be shortened to? Har? No, that sounds like something Vane would use (I felt the usual wave of queasiness wash over me at the mere thought of Romilda and immediately put her out of my mind, which I then had to mentally disinfect with copious images of Harry - which, to be honest, wasn't too hard, seeing as my mind way already filled with images of Harry).

I noticed Dean shooting me a curious glance out of the corner of my eye and pointedly refused to meet his stare.

"I don't mind playing dirty," Coote said, stroking the tip of his bat with a manic serial killer sort of smile. When he began to cackle, Harry sent Demelza a discreet nod, prompting her to lean forward and tug the bat out of his hands.

"I'm sorry, but I think we're stuck with McLaggen for the time being," Harry sighed eventually. "At least until Ron recovers."

"Trust Ron to go and get himself poisoned at a time like this," I mumbled, blowing my fringe out of my eyes with a heavily exhaled puff of air.

Harry chortled again. "He can be so damned inconvenient sometimes."

"Have a word with him, Harry," I said, nodding superiorly. "You are the captain. It's your duty."

"Go check if he's breathing," Dean said to Demelza, gesturing to the still motionless McLaggen. Demelza dipped her broom down several metres, stuck out her foot and, with the precision of a Chaser, kicked McLaggen hard in the side. He groaned and shifted slightly to the left. Demelza returned to her previous position in the circle.

"He's alive," she said simply.

"Damn."

* * *

After several more minutes watching McLaggen whine, Coote and Peakes had petulantly followed Harry's orders and hauled (or rather, kicked and rolled) McLaggen off to the Hospital Wing to get his face checked out.

"I'd love to see what Uncle Flatty thinks about this," Coote had muttered to Peakes as they'd moulded into the darkness. Demelza and Dean, following a brutal attack from their consciences, had followed to make sure Peakes and Coote didn't dump him in a pile on the edge of the Forbidden Forest or anything. Which had left me and Harry alone.

Oh bollocks.

Despite my assurances to Hermione that I was no longer interested starting something with Harry, I was finding it _increasingly _ difficult to not jump him whenever he was near me. I could deny wanting a relationship with him all I wanted, but I could not pretend that I didn't _like _ like him any more. And so, standing in a dusky, empty field with him did absolutely nothing to help me resist the ever-present temptation to throw myself at him and do highly inappropriate things for someone with a boyfriend already. Or for anyone, really.

"How likely do you reckon the possibility that Peakes knocked some of McLaggen's arrogance out of him is?" Harry asked me through a wry smirk, shouldering his broom.

"Heh," I replied stupidly, our close proximity (we were standing less than two metres away from each other, for Merlin's sake) reverting me to my original incoherentness. I even stumbled to the side a little, and I could bet that if a goblet of pumpkin juice had been in range it would have been splattered all down my front by then. "Not very likely at all."

"Ah well, I can always dream," Harry sighed, glancing up at the stars that had started to peek through the darkness. "Are you coming?"

"Mhm," I replied, not trusting myself with proper words. I followed Harry into the changing rooms, sighing in relief when they flooded with light, forcing my brain to stop conjuring up preposterous moonlit scenarios in which Harry and I confessed our eternal love for each other and waltzed around to Celestina Warbeck.

Er.

I mean, I couldn't even waltz! My two left feet had rendered me completely incapable of dance moves that would be considered at all 'cool'. Ruth had once told me that I danced like a bear on firewhiskey, to which I had replied that she snored like a chainsaw with a bad flu. My ensuing victory dance had been cut short by a chocolate-frog missile whacking me in the forehead. I'd had a bruise for days afterwards.

"You feeling confident about tomorrow?" Harry asked me as he pulled off his gloves and shoved them into his bag.

"Um," I said eloquently. "Not as much as I thought. I mean, we should be able to thrash Hufflepuff, but with McLaggen..."

"He's not a terrible Keeper, to be fair," Harry said, possessing a fairness and reason that I severely lacked. "He just likes to do everyone else's jobs as well."

"Being a not-terrible Keeper doesn't make up for him being an asshole," I countered.

"You're not wrong there," Harry snorted, swinging his bag over his shoulder and leading the way out of the changing room and back into the darkness. My heart began to thud a little quicker despite my internal scolds - I wasn't too surprised, my body parts and limbs had stopped paying attention to me a _ long _time ago. They had minds of their own now. "How Hermione ever went to Slughorn's Christmas party with that prat I will never understand."

"She did it to make Ron jealous," I shrugged, letting the changing room door swing shut behind me. I could see Harry shaking his head slowly.

"The things girls do to make blokes jealous," he said incredulously.

"How else are we meant to get you to notice us?" I snorted.

Harry glanced over at me, smirking. "So, you've done that before?"

"Hm?"

"You've tried to make a bloke jealous on purpose?"

Crap. Not that I ever did try to make Harry jealous (Hermione and Ruth must had forgotten about that particular technique during their planning and scheming), but the conversation was steering far too close to blokes that I might _want _to make jealous. Namely, him.

"No," I replied honestly, shaking my head a little too firmly. "Not that I know of."

Harry snorted loudly.

"What?" I demanded, glancing over at him, though his facial expression was hard to gauge with the darkness. I considered lighting my wand but my hands refused to comply after strict orders from my head that it would 'destroy the mood'.

Damn, overbearing brain.

"Never mind," Harry said, shaking his head. "So, there's never been a bloke that you've wanted to make jealous?"

Oh, bloody Merlin. While my body warned me that this conversation was getting a little too close for comfort, my brain lost all control over itself and screamed _he's onto us! HE'S ON TO US! _at me.

"That's not necessarily true," my mouth said before I could stop it. I was too preoccupied with calming my brain down, which was proving quite a difficult feat - I'd had two portions of ice cream at dinner so it was rather overloaded on sugar.

"Oh," Harry said, seeming to consider my answer for quite a long time before he added, "is that all you're going to say?"

"Yes," I replied quickly before any other body parts could interject. I paused, curiosity getting the better of me. "Why do you want to know?"

"No reason," Harry said, just as quickly. "So, how're you and Dean?"

"Oh, you know," I replied vaguely. "Existing."

"You two still fighting?"

"Not really. We've finally accepted our mutual hate for each other, so things have been pretty quiet lately."

"So wait -" Harry started, and I didn't need a lumos charm to guess that there would be a frown on his beautiful face. "You and Dean can't stand each other and yet you're _still _ going out?"

"Yeah, that sounds about right."

"I honestly don't understand you."

"Not many people do. I'm more of a closed book, if you know what I mean."

"You're mental."

"Right back at you, Potter."

"Why don't you just break up with him?"

Because, since I was adamant that no sparks were going to be flying between Harry and me for the foreseeable future, there really was no point in breaking up with Dean anymore. We were no longer tearing each others throats out but merely going about our usual death-glares and insults in silence, and a messy break-up (which, given our track record and talent for screaming, was a given) would only make things worse. Things are the moment were quite peaceful, actually. Dysfunctional, but peaceful.

"Why, do you want your chance with him?" I teased. "Trying to get rid of me so you have a clear shot?"

"Trust me, Gin," Harry drawled boldly, turning around so he was walking backwards in front of me, sort-of-but-not-really silhouetted against the moonlight. "If I did want Dean, _you _ wouldn't be able to stop me from getting him."

I arched a single eyebrow, smirking. "Cocky much?"

"Jealous much?"

Very much.

"So, you're suggesting that you could get _anyone _ you wanted with no problems?"

Get me then! my brain screamed before I could mute it.

Harry laughed aloud now, abandoning the brassy facade and falling into step next to me again - the fact that he had managed to walk backwards for so long without tripping over only made me want him more. His balance would more than make up for my lack of. We were _made _ for each other.

"I wish," he snorted, pushing up his glasses to rub his eyes. "Seriously, what good is being The Chosen One if I can't even use it to get girls to like me?"

I chuckled. "How about one of your other many titles? Do they work on the _ladies _?"

"I don't know," Harry said. He paused, and the turned to me, smirking. "Hey Ginny, did I ever tell you I was a Triwizard Champion?"

My responding laughter, mixed with Harry's chortles, sent several wood pigeons nosing around the grounds streaking into the air, glaring beaky-glares at us as they swooped into the forest.

"Unfortunately Harry," I said through chuckles, "I don't care how many Triwizard tournaments you've won. To me, you'll always be the four-eyes who threw a garden gnome through my window when I was eleven."

Harry's blush was illuminated by the light that spilled through the windows of the Great Hall. "That was one time!" he protested. "And in my defence, I was twelve years old and the damn thing wouldn't let go of my finger. Besides" - his eyes lit up devilishly, halting my laughter - "I'll always remember you as the girl who stuck her elbow in the butter."

"Low blow, Potter. Low blow."

* * *

Ruth was snuggled up with Jayson when we got back to the common room. Hermione, who was now speaking to Ron after his near-death experience (nothing like poisoned mead to spark off a reunion), was sitting on the armchair opposite them, obviously waiting for Harry to return so she would have an excuse to visit Ron for the fourth time in three hours.

"Hey," Ruth said when Harry and I dropped into vacant armchairs. "How was quidditch practice?"

"Peakes hit McLaggen in the face with a Beater's bat and we think he might have died."

"So, nothing special, then?"

"Not really."

* * *

If I wanted to kill McLaggen before, it was _nothing _ compared to the homicidal urges seeping through my bloodthirsty body now. Not only had he recovered from his on-purpose-accident with even more arrogance than beforehand ("See, that's what I was talking about, Peakes. A little more power behind your swing and I could have been out for a few more hours!") but he had singlehandedly managed to kill Harry.

Okay, so he didn't _kill _ Harry, but he did send him plummeting off a broom, suspended hundreds of feet in the air, and crashing to the floor. And if the loud 'thunk!' of Harry's skull hitting hard soil was anything to go by, it had been bloody painful.

In addition to this, he'd made us loose the match against Hufflepuff. Against _Smith _, who, despite knowing that he'd only won because of McLaggen's sheer stupidity, had still been as cocky as ever. Well, at least until I'd thrown the quaffle at his face. Now he just had a recently healed broken nose.

And so, because Mr. and Mrs. McLaggen had made the terrible decision to have one too many glasses of firewhiskey one night seventeen years ago and create the ultimate spawn of Satan, I was now sat in the Hospital Wing for the second time in under a week.

"How bad was it?" Ron asked me as I stared down at Harry's unconscious form and greatly resisted the urge to throw myself over him and sob uncontrollably. Be cool, Ginny.

"Pretty awful, actually," I replied truthfully. "McLaggen's bludger hit him hard and he flew off his broom."

"Didn't Dumbledore do anything?"

"There wasn't enough time. With the dementors it was pretty slow. This morning it was quick and painful. Good job Coote and Peakes were there."

Ron grimaced. "Has anyone said anything to McLaggen yet?"

"I hexed him the minute he'd touched down onto the pitch, right in front of McGonagall and everything, but I think she was too angry to care because she didn't give me a detention or anything. Peakes and Coote are - _talking _ - to him now."

"Did they take their Beater's bats with them?"

"You bet they did."

Ron chortled quietly, turning his attention towards the window. It was late afternoon and things had just started to settle down. Madame Pomfrey had shooed the rest of the team out of the Hospital Wing when she had got sick of hearing us plot McLaggen's bloody demise. She had let me stay though, seeing as I was Ron's sister and I had promised to restrain Harry if he woke up and tried to go on a killing spree.

I gazed down at him, looking so small and innocent in sleep. It was odd - of all the scenarios I'd imagined Harry hurting himself in, being hit on the head with a bludger had not been one of them. It just seemed too - ordinary. It made me think, with a sickening pang, that if a stupid _bludger _ could do this much damage, what was You-Know-Who capable of? For most students at the school an overnight trip to the Hospital Wing was the worst possible thing, but Harry would have to wake up, pain throbbing through his forehead, knowing that the worst was yet to come.

Right there and then, the urge to wrap Harry in a strangling hug and never let him go was stronger than ever.

"Hey, Ginny?"

Ron's voice broke me out of my daze. "Yeah, Ron?"

"I never - I mean - I never apologised to you. For, you know, that time with Dean -"

"It's okay, Ron," I said softly over his partially intelligible splutters. For some reason, despite my previous lengthy grumbles over Ron's lack of apology, I really didn't need to hear it.

"No, it's not," Ron said, picking at the corner of his duvet. "I was being a git. I'm sorry."

"Apology accepted," I replied, smiling.

"Just like that?" Ron asked, looking mildly surprised.

"I'm trying a new thing were I _don't _ hold grudges against people."

"Oh, yeah? How's that working out for you?"

"Ask me in a few weeks."

I looked back down at Harry, absentmindedly brushing a stray piece of fringe away from his forehead, revealing his the thin scar that had become his trademark. His fringe flopped back into place as soon as I moved my hand, so I knew brushing it away again would be futile, but I did it anyway.

"How're things with you and Dean?" Ron asked after a pause.

That question was becoming quite a recurrent theme in my conversations. That was another reason for me to not break up with Dean - no one would have anything to talk about anymore.

"Fine," I replied, shrugging. I twitch the blankets over Harry's chest, straightening them needlessly. "I hate him, he hates me. We're at a peaceful moot point."

Ron snorted loudly. "Bloody Hell, that sounds like a romantic relationship."

"Hey, speaking of crappy relationships with equally crappy people - how's Lav Lav?"

That sure shut him up.

* * *

Ruth was absent from the common room when I returned - probably enjoying the benefits of an empty classroom with Jayson somewhere - and my tired legs didn't have enough energy left in them to make it up the dormitory stairs so I flopped onto a vacant sofa near the fire, letting my head fall onto a cushion. I had originally intended on mutilating McLaggen when I returned from Harry's not-technically-dead-but-I-was-still-going-to-kill-McLaggen-the-stupid-bludger-bashing-bollock-head bed, but my limbs groaned in protest whenever I considered moving and going against their wishes was out of the question.

Plus, with any luck, Peakes and Coote would have seen to him quiet nicely.

"Ginny?" said a voice from above me that sounded a lot like Dean's. Several puffs of wheezy, hippo-like breath followed, confirming my suspicions.

"Hmph?" I mumbled in reply.

"How's Harry?" Dean said, circling around the couch to sit down next to me. I raised my head from the cushion, blinking drowsiness away from my eyes.

"He's still out, but Madame Pomfrey's mended his skull. She reckon's he'll be fine."

"That's good," Dean said, and then he chuckled.

"And funny?" I added on quizzically, arching a skeptical eyebrow.

"No," Dean said, shaking his head, grinning. "I was just replaying McLaggen's bludger smacking into Harry's head in my mind."

"And _laughing _?" I demanded, anger forcing me awake. I sat up straighter and crossed my arms around my chest in an image that said _piss me off and I'll kill you _.

"You have to admit, it was pretty funny," Dean insisted, slinging a casual arm over the back of the sofa. I scooted forward so I wasn't in danger of being touched by it.

"I don't have to admit anything," I retorted. "Because it wasn't funny. At all."

"Lighten up, Gin," Dean said.

_ Oh no . _It pissed me off when Dean called me babe and made me want to punch him when he called me carrot-top, but he was _not _ going to steal Harry's nickname and get away with it. At least without loosing a few limbs and a bit of his sanity in the process.

"I'm not going to 'lighten up' about something that could have really hurt Harry," I snapped. "And don't call me Gin."

Dean's smirk dropped into a scowl. He stiffened and sat forward. "Oh, I see what's going on here."

"Really, Dean?" I demanded sardonically. "Well, why don't you enlighten me."

"This is about Harry, isn't it?"

"Well obviously, stupid, since you're the one _laughing _ at him for getting seriously injured."

"You know what I mean," Dean muttered quietly.

I narrowed my eyes. "I really don't. Do explain."

Dean's eyes flickered around the common room. There were pockets of students scattered around the various couches, but none of them were strangers to mine and Dean's arguments/cat fights.

"Alright," Dean said in a quieter voice, leaning forward. "You don't want me to call you Gin because it's _Harry's _ nickname for you, isn't it? I'm right, aren't I?"

Well, we all know where Trelawney should go when she's after a successor. Obviously though, because admitting Dean was right would be as painful as telling Draco Malfoy he was sexy, I raised both of my eyebrows and retorted, "Actually, I don't want _you _ calling me Gin because it's a nickname that implies affection, which even an idiot like Goyle could tell is missing in this relationship."

Ooh, _burn_. Score one for Weasley.

"We've both known that for weeks though. I noticed you were pretty cosy with Harry at quidditch practice last night."

"If by cosy you mean _friendly _, then yes, I was." I conveniently _forgot_ to mention the fact that the majority of my limbs had had everything _but _ friendship on their minds. Dean didn't need to know that. Not just yet, anyway. "Maybe you should try it some time, Dean."

"Whatever, Ginny. I know that's why you're bringing all of this up again." All of what, exactly? Dean could be so cryptic for a hippo. "You're only getting so mad at me because you're angry that I'm the only thing stopping you from going after Harry."

Okay, where had this come from? Our arguments didn't even make sense any more.

"Then why haven't I broken up with you yet?" I demanded.

"Because then, if things don't work out with Harry, at least you know you'll have me to come crawling back to."

If his words could have left a physical slap mark on my face, they would have. Not that there wasn't elements of truth in his statement, but he had twisted them into something else entirely.

I stood up abruptly. "I'm angry at you, Dean, because you're being an insensitive wart and laughing at something that isn't remotely amusing."

"And now your leaving," Dean said, ignoring my previous statement like the prat that he was. I knew I hated him for a reason. "Going back to Harry?"

I turned back to Dean, a large exhale seeping out through my nose. "Actually, Dean, I'm going to bed. I have a huge headache and I want to get a shower, get into bed and try my hardest to pretend that today _never _ happened."

And, with the score standing firmly at Weasley: 1, Git: 0, I turned on my heel and charged towards the stairs, cursing on every ascending step.

_ Stupid - Dean - and - his - bloody - stupid - jokes - that - aren't - funny - and - his - stupid - wheezy - hippo - laughing - and - his - stupid - pratty - stupidness - _

I flung the door to the dormitory open, stopping short when I saw Ruth sitting on her bed opposite, a book propped up in her lap.

"Oh," I said stupidly. "I thought you were with Jayson."

Ruth shook her head. "He went to the library," she said. "He had to work. How's Harry?"

"Fine," I replied, slouching over to my bed and throwing myself, face down, onto the mattress. The shower seemed too far away to even contemplate the journey at that time. Maybe I could convince Ruth to drag me there and let the water drown me. Or maybe I should have asked Dean, he would have been more than happy to comply.

"What's up with you?" Ruth asked from across the room.

"Nothing," I sighed, flipping over onto my back and glaring at the canopy over my head. "Just bitches ruinin' my life."

"Do you want to talk about it?"

I shook my head, but, like I suspected, Ruth refused to take no for an answer. She patted the spare spot of mattress next to her appealingly, even giving it a cajoling little rub. "Come on," she pressed. "I have chocolate frogs. Lots of chocolate frogs."

"Do you promise not to throw them at me?"

"Only if you promise not to insult my snoring."

I paused. "Deal."

* * *

**A/N: ****All the people who reviewed on the last chapter are to thank for this chapter, as they gave me the motivation to actually write it and not wait another four months before I even attempted to. So thank you, to all of them :)**

**I spent the majority of this chapter thinking '_finally_, I can get rid of Dean soon!' because if you haven't noticed, he's really starting to piss me (and Ginny) off.**

**If anyone doesn't recognise the quote at the end ('just bitches ruinin' my life') it's a quote from A Very Potter Sequel. I know it's a little out of context, but it was running through my head the whole time I was writing this chapter and I figured, after a pretty heavy ending, we could all use a little of the glorious Lauren Lopez to cheer us up :)**

**Review if you want, it'll make me happy :)**

**Thank you, SPS**


	24. Chapter 24: Ear Muffs

**A/N****: Dun dun duuuuuuuuuun!**

**_Disclaimer: The splendid characters are JKR's, the rather crappy writing, I am afraid, is mine._**

**_

* * *

_**Chapter 24 - Ear Muffs

"So, did anyone hear about Martha Stewart? Apparently she slipped on a banana skin in the Great Hall the other day and broke her wrist."

"Ask Dean, he often takes joy in other people's pain and misery."

"Or ask Ginny, _she_ often takes joy in people who aren't her boyfriend."

"Maybe if Ginny's boyfriend wasn't such in immature git she wouldn't have to look to other people for decent conversation."

"Maybe if Ginny wasn't so uptight she would find her boyfriend's perfectly amusing jokes funny."

"Maybe," Ruth intercepted loudly over my retort, which would have been a splendidly witty remark about Dean's hippo-laugh. Beside her, Jayson looked like he was seriously regretting mentioning Martha Stewart and her banana skins. "You two should stop referring to yourselves in the third person. It's bloody annoying."

"Ginny resents that," I replied snootily, crossing my arms over my chest, "as Ruth spent much of January eating ice cream and referring to herself in the third person."

"Dean agrees with this," Dean added on, upturning his nose.

"Ruth would like to point out that her third-person-usage was completely precedented," Ruth defended, "as having one's heart broken is a more legitimate excuse for over-using the third person than merely hating each other's guts."

"Ginny would like to remind Ruth that she didn't have a broken heart, she was just being a coward."

"Oh-ho-ho." Ruth let out a shocked laugh, leaning forward. "Ginny wants to talk about _cowardice_? Ruth has a word for that - _hypocritical_!"

While I proceeded to glare at Ruth, Jayson intoned feebly,

"Jayson is very confused."

Ruth's scowling expression instantly melted into one of utter cushiness and sappiness. She turned to Jayson, whose side she was already cuddled in to, and pressed a kiss to his nose.

"Yes you are," she gushed, grinning.

"Ugh," Dean muttered while I pretended to vomit over the side of the couch. It was several Sundays after mine and Dean's argument - well, the argument that had started off all the bickering, as the past two weeks had been a blur of never-ending arguments and insults and the occasional cat fight (I still had the scratches) - and the four of us were slumped in the common room, wiling away the time before lunch.

Ruth turned to us, scowling once more.

"Shouldn't you two get back to strangling each other? I mean, I haven't heard either of you throw an insult for at least thirty seconds."

We paused.

"Prat," I said quickly.

"Git," Dean replied.

Ruth sighed heavily, as if annoyed by our bickering, which I thought was _very_ hypocritical seeing as she had been encouraging it not two seconds ago. And her earlier jibes at _me_ for being a hypocrite meant that she was a double-hypocrite, making me right and her wrong.

So _ha - _stick that in your pipe and smoke it, bitch.

"Come on, Jayson," she said, pushing herself up off the couch. "Let's go to lunch and leave these two love birds alone."

"I hope you choke on a slice of cucumber and die," I told her.

"Love you too, bitch," she replied without missing a beat. Jayson, who wasn't used to mine and Ruth's less-than-friendly way of speaking to each other and regular death threats, shifted from side to side nervously, obviously torn between shielding Ruth from me (ha, like it would do much good) or running as fast as his legs could take him. By the way he was tugging Ruth towards the portrait hole, I guessed it was the latter.

Dean and I watched them go in silence.

"Pompous ass," I murmured, because I hadn't insulted him for several seconds.

"Ginger," he replied quickly.

"Romilda's over there. Why don't you go and annoy her?"

"I'm sure you could go find McLaggen and spend the whole of Slughorn's Christmas party with him. Oh, wait - _you already did that_!"

"Only because you spent the whole night trotting along behind Romilda Vane like a Yorkshire terrier. Tell me, Dean, how does it feel to be Romilda Vane's bitch?"

"How does it feel to be Harry's bitch?"

"Fantastic, actually," I retorted sarcastically. "And Harry is my _friend_. _Friends_ are the result of being _nice_ to people. Maybe you should try it some time, crap bag."

"I have plenty of friends!"

"It doesn't count if you have to pay them, Dean."

"Seamus is my friend," Dean announced, pointing suddenly to Seamus, who was creeping past our armchairs, desperately trying to blend in with his surroundings which, considering he was wearing green and the decor was mainly red, didn't go too well for him. When Dean demanded, "aren't you, Seamus?", Seamus winced and paused.

Ah, foiled again by his green 'I HEART LEPRECHAUNS' jumper.

"Uh -" he started, obviously scared even a single word from him would make Dean and I blow up like a box of Wealseys' Wildfire Whiz-bang fireworks.

"Ha!" I said triumphantly, pointing the finger, metaphorically _and_ literally, at Dean, who was glaring at Seamus, who was trembling. "He hesitated! Obviously doesn't love you that much, Dean-o, though I don't blame him. Arrogance and strong odours don't exactly scream 'friendship'."

"I - I like Dean," Seamus whispered.

"Don't worry, Seamus," I said compassionately. "Don't let Dean bully you into being his friend." I turned back to Dean, glaring. "You sicken me," I growled, pointing again at Seamus, who threw his hands in front of his face and rolled underneath a nearby sofa. "Picking on a poor, innocent Irishman like Seamus! _How do you sleep_ _at night_?"

Dean spluttered attractively (heavy sarcasm) but I steamrolled on.

"I knew you were cruel, Dean, but I didn't think you were sadistic. First the Irish, what next? House elves? Portraits? _Gamekeepers?_"

"What -? Ginny, that doesn't even make any _sense_!"

"You know what," I said, pushing myself to my feet. "I can't even stand to be in your presence any more. But mark my words, if I see you so much as _look_ at a house elf in the wrong way my foot will be down your throat quicker than you can say 'S.P.E.W'."

And with that, I turned on my heel and stalked away. As I crossed the common room I distinctly heard Dean complain,

"You could have backed me up a bit, Seamus!"

"You know I'd take a bullet for you any day, mate," Seamus replied weakly, "but I am _not_ taking on Ginny Weasley for you."

* * *

I thundered up and down the corridor for several minutes before my temper dissipated slightly and I began to feel quite bad for wishing Ruth death-by-cucumber, especially because I of all people knew how frightening and deadly food could be. Especially butter. And sprouts. But mostly butter.

My legs started to hurt from the excess amount of storming and thundering I had been doing lately, so I stopped thundering and storming long enough to sag against the wall next to a portrait of an old woman sitting on an overgrown mushroom.

Er.

"Bad day, deary?" she asked me sympathetically, her poofy white hair wobbling as she leant forward to peer down at me.

"Bad week, really," I replied, and then, because I had decided I could trust people who sat on mushrooms (as far as I was concerned, they were still part of the small group of vegetables that _didn't_ have a vendetta against me), I added on, "boy troubles."

"Oh, I see," the woman said, nodding knowingly. "Men. Can't live with them, can't live without them."

"I reckon I could do without them," I said musingly. A lifetime without Dean would be heaven. Then again, that would mean a lifetime without Harry. But, technically, wasn't Harry a god? And I was pretty sure gods were welcomed in heaven. In which case, living without men would mean spending the rest of my life in paradise with Potter rather than in turmoil with Thomas.

Alliteration - what the Hell can't it do?

"So, are these troubles with a boy you like?" the woman asked.

"Um," I said, "not exactly 'like'. Try a little further down the spectrum."

"How far?"

"I pretty much curse him to the fiery depths of Hell on a regular basis."

"Oh dear," the woman said, her petite little eyebrows arching. "That bad, eh?"

"He makes Umbridge look like a fairy. And she was no peach."

"Is this boy harassing you?"

"Well -" I paused, unsure of how to spell my dysfunctional life out in a way and old, mushroom-inhabiting, moderately sane lady would understand. "See - he's _technically_ my boyfriend, but I still hate him."

"Why are you still with him, then?"

"If I had a sickle for every time someone had asked me that question - I would have five sickles."

Five sickles was enough to buy a shedload of Honeydukes chocolate which, in my current state, I was in desperate need of. Making a mental note to start charging people to listen to my woes and sorrows, I pushed off the wall.

"Besides, it's not that easy."

"Oh?" the woman queried, arching one eyebrow this time.

"No, it isn't."

"It sounds quite simple to me."

"Well, it isn't."

"Why not?"

"I - it just isn't."

"'It just isn't' isn't an adequate answer."

"Change the question, then."

"Fine. What's stopping you from breaking up with this boy?" When I paused, at loss for words, she continued a little smugly, "would 'nothing' be the answer you're looking for?"

I scowled. This mushroom-lady was a frickin' portrait. What right did she have to nose into my personal life? What did she know? Her biggest worry was whether her canvas made her ass look big. Which it did. Just saying.

"You know," I said, pointing a finger at her. "You may have your own mushroom, but you don't know all of the answers!"

"But I know most of them," the woman answered.

"Fine, answer me this then - what came first, Snape or his nose?"

By the time she had come up with a suitable answer (no doubt a clever, witty remark that was probably extremely irritatingly I'm-going-to-hit-you-over-the-head-with-your-own-mushroom-if-you-don't-stop-talking-right-now logical) I was running down the next corridor, which was, thankfully, portrait free. I sagged against another wall, scraping my fingers through my hair.

"Ginny?"

"For the love of Merlin's saggiest Y-fronts -" I yelped, springing forwards. "_Nathanial_!"

"Yes, angel?" he asked. His greasy little head, which had been poking out of a nearby classroom, emerged into the middle of the corridor, followed by his skinny body. He was once again wearing flappy bat-like robes that made him look all the more crazy when he pranced up to me.

"Don't scare me like that, I could have had a heart attack!" I complained.

"Why would someone want to attack your pure and beautiful heart?" he asked, widening his eyes.

My astonish faced dropped into a thoroughly fed-up expression. "Look, Nathanial, usually I'd be happy to go along with your weird stalking thing because it reminds me that I am crazy and that I have an excuse for my bizarre and potentially life-threatening actions, but right now I'm really not in the mood."

"So no Shakespeare?"

"No Shakespeare."

"Well, actually" - Nathanial glanced down at his feet, pressing the toe of one shiny, shiny shoe onto the stone floor - "I kind of - need your - help with something."

"Oh," I replied bluntly. "What with? Do you need me to hex someone for you? Because I _am_ in the mood for that."

Especially if it was Dean. Or Vane. Or Smith. Or McLaggen. Or that second year with the pointy trunk. Basically, the whole population of Hogwarts. Apart from Harry, of course. And Ruth, seeing as I kind of owed her one for the death-threat thing. And Luna and Hermione, because, alarmingly, they were the ones that kept me moderately sane. And Ron too, I supposed, because mum would kill me if I hexed him - family values, and all that crap.

"No, I actually need your - advice." Nathanial looked up meekly, his little stalker-cheeks blushing a deep red.

"_Oh_," I said, my eyes widening. I paled slightly - I could barely control my own messed-up and comical (for onlookers) life, and I was pretty sure that any 'advice' I gave Nathanial would probably ruin his life too, making me a murderer and earning me a life sentence in Azkaban, which, seeing as I had already planned a lifetime of Potter Paradise, would _seriously_ put a downer on my day. Like, mondo bummer. "About what? You know, there's a woman sitting on a mushroom just round the corner who would be glad to help you..."

Er.

"I want your help," Nathanial insisted.

"Fine," I replied feebly, after much puppy-dog pouting from Nathanial. "What's wrong?"

Nathanial pranced forward until he was leaning on the stretch of wall beside me. "Well, you see - there's a girl."

"A girl?" I pressed.

"Yes. A girl that I like. Very much like."

I narrowed my eyes. "Are you talking about me?"

"No," Nathanial replied briskly, shaking his head.

A small part of me died inside when I realised that my affronted response was mostly due to jealously that my mini-stalker was interested in someone other than myself. I was both self-obsessed and completely mental.

"Oh," I repeated. "Is she a girl in your year?"

"Yes," Nathanial said, nodding. He began to fiddle with a loose button on his robes. "She's in my house and she's really nice and she's pretty and everyone always laughs at her jokes _including_ me but I don't think she notices when I laugh because I don't think she even knows I exist but I _really_ like her and I don't know what to do and -"

"Woah, woah," I interrupted, raising my palms. "Breathe, Nathanial."

He obligingly sucked in a deep breath of air and I resisted the urge to pat him on the head and croon 'good little stalker'.

"Now, start from the beginning," I said slowly. "Is this girl a _friend_ of yours?"

"_She-doesn't-even-know-I-exist_!" Nathanial exhaled in one big breath.

"How come?"

Nathanial pulled his shoulders upwards in a shrug. "D'know," he murmured.

"Have you ever spoken to her before?"

"No."

"Have you ever made eye contact with her before?"

"No."

"Have you ever stood within three metres of her before?"

"Once! But I was hid behind a bush, so she didn't exactly know I was there."

Creepy.

"Well, how can you expect her to _like_ you if she doesn't even know you? And stop hiding in bushes, Nathanial, it freaks people out."

"Where else am I meant to hide?"

Facepalm. "That's not the point, Nathanial. _My point is_ that if you don't introduce yourself then she's going to keep on ignoring you."

Nathanial paused, his little stalker-brain working underneath his little stalker-hair. "So, you think I should go up to her, announce my name and recite a sonnet?"

Double facepalm. "Why don't you lay off the Shakespeare? Just while she's getting to know you."

"Some John Keats, then?"

"No -" I paused, resisting the urge to triple-facepalm, for my nose was rather starting to hurt. "It doesn't have to be extravagant, Nathanial. Next time you're in a lesson or in the courtyard or at dinner, and this girl is alone, just go and sit next to her. Talk to her, be friendly. Trust me, girls like it when guys are actually _friendly_."

"But what do I say?" Nathanial quizzed, looking rather worried.

"Anything! Talk about quidditch, the weather, your homework - just _don't_ recite any poetry."

"Not even a limerick?"

"No."

"A haiku?"

"What the flobberworm is a haiku?"

"It's a three line poem consisting of -"

"You know what, it doesn't matter, because hankies -"

"Haikus."

"Whatever. They're off limits."

Nathanial sagged against the wall, looking tragic. I felt my exhausted heart break a little. Mine and Nathanial's relationship would probably have been 'frowned upon' in pleasant society, what with him being my stalker and me usually wanting to murder him, but I couldn't help but feel a little protectiveness over the crab-leaping, shiny-shoe-wearing squirt. Enough to make me care when he pulled that sad little I'm-never-going-to-find-love-due-to-my-not-at-all-normal-obsession-with-poetry-and-Shakespeare-and-shoe-polish face.

"Look, Nathanial," I said eventually, letting myself drop down so I was on his level. "I know, as your stalkee, I shouldn't be saying this, but I am." I paused, took a deep breath, and continued. "You're a lovely person, Nathanial. Your sweet, in your own strange way, and you care a lot about people, you just have an _odd_ way of showing it, and, if this girl has any sense, she'll see what a fantastic boy you are without you having to make a big fuss."

Nathanial looked up. "And if she doesn't?"

"Then she's not worth your time," I replied solidly.

Nathanial paused, deliberating, and then nodded. The corners of his mouth tugged up in a small smile. "Thanks, Ginny."

"You're welcome."

"So," Nathanial announced after a slight pause. "Been up to much lately? Apart from arguing with your boyfriend, that is."

"How do you know about that?" I demanded, though I wouldn't have been surprised if Nathanial told me he'd been stowing away in my school bag and eavesdropping on all of my arguments for the past three weeks. My bag had been a little heavier lately...

"Please, Ginny," Nathanial snorted, "the whole school knows. We could hear the screams all the way over in the Hufflepuff common room."

Hmph. So Nathanial was a Hufflepuff. No wonder he was so good at finding me.

* * *

Next on my trip around the Hogwarts corridors (after bidding Nathanial goodbye with a stern reminder to _stay away_ from the poetry, for Merlin's sake) I wandered over to the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom. I had calmed down now, to the point where I still hated Dean, but I didn't want to bloodily mutilate him. In fact, I was feeling quite cheery when I turned around a corner and bumped right into -

"Harry!" I said, bouncing off his perfectly sculpted chest.

"Hi, Gin," he said, reaching out a hand to steady my wobbling self. His use of my new nickname, _Gin_, made my toes curl and reminded me that I needed to think of one for him. Haz? Hazza Bazza? Potts? Hotty-Potty? Potter-ific?

Or... perhaps just Harry.

"What're you up to?" Hotty-Potty asked, retracting his hand.

"Just walking," I replied.

Potter-ific arched a suspicious eyebrow. "_Just_ walking?"

"Surprisingly yes. Nothing particularly mischievous today."

"Having a day off, are we?" he teased, grinning.

I leaned nonchalantly against the wall, feigning I'm-so-cool-I-make-leaning-nonchalantly-against-walls-look-cool nonchalance.

"I haven't been feeling so mischievous since Fred and George left. When there's no one to be mischievous with, it gets kind of boring."

"Hey, what's wrong with being mischievous with me?"

There was an awkward, cricket-chirping silence as the unintended innuendo hung in the air between us, like an elephant squeezed in a broom cupboard.

Chirp. Chirp chirp chirp.

"So," I said loudly once the crickets had got bored and flown off. "Where are you off to?"

"The kitchens," Potts said through pink cheeks, jumping on the new conversation topic like it was the last piece of pumpkin pie. "I have a present for Dobby." He held up a tightly furled ball of yellow wool. I frowned.

"You know, Harry," I said, taking the wool from him and tossing it in my hand. "Dobby isn't a cat. Are you sure you're not confusing house elves with Crookshanks?"

Harold gave me a scathing look that I was pretty much certain he'd learnt from Hermione, since he added in the sarcastic smile that good ol' Granger was famous for, and took his kitty-present back. "No, I'm not. Dobby likes to knit socks and stuff, so I thought, you know... stop - stop laughing, Gin, it's a good present!"

"Don't worry," I said through chortles, "your secret's safe with me. Why are you getting old Dobbster a present anyway?"

"He's been helping me out with something. I thought he deserved a thank you present."

Hm. Cryptic.

"If you're not too busy with mischief and wrongful doings you could accompany me down to the kitchens," Hazbo Potts suggested, twisting the wool in his hands. "I'm sure Dobby would like to see you."

"Sure," I replied, desperately trying to keep the stupid love-sick grin off my face and resisting the urge to squee loudly and break out into a victory dance, which would have included much unattractive arm flailing and a few hazardous fist pumps. So instead, I calmly flicked my hair over my shoulder, shrugged my shoulders and said, "Why not?"

* * *

"So, are you happy Ron and Hermione are speaking again?" I asked Harry as we strolled down the marble staircase, bypassing the buzzing Great Hall.

"Yeah," Harry said. "Especially since Hermione's letting us copy her homework again."

"You _copy_ Hermione's _homework_?" I demanded in mock surprise and outrage. I had often witnessed Harry and Ron grovelling on their knees in front of Hermione, wailing about quills and detention and worshipping her as their 'All Knowing And All Powerful Leader'. From the smirk Hermione always had on her face I guessed she liked it a little _too_ much.

"Did I say copy? I meant 'do'. Since Hermione's letting us _do_ her homework again. Such a slacker, that girl."

"Where would she be without you two, eh?" I chortled.

Harry snorted. "She'd probably be a lot less stressed."

"I don't think so," I said, shaking my head. We passed through a door on the right-hand side of the Entrance Hall, descending a few shallow steps into a new corridor. "I reckon you two calm Hermione down a lot."

Harry arched an eyebrow, tossing the cotton ball in one hand with the skill of a Seeker. "Really? I always thought we drove her to insanity on a regular basis."

"Well, yeah, you do. But compare her insanity now to how fussy and pedantic she used to be in second year."

Harry laughed through a groan, a feat that he somehow managed to pull off without looking anything like a troll. Quite impressive, really. "You should have seen her in first year, she was even worse. Ruddy pain in the arse."

"Exactly," I said, grinning. "You two have mellowed her out. In fact, she's probably broken more school rules than _I_ have in the last six years."

"Yeah, we are a bit of a bad influence on her," Harry said, nodding. "Poor 'Mione. You know, she nearly cried the other day when Ron asked her how to spell the word 'soul'. She spent fifteen minutes banging her head against the wall. What was even worse was Ron was attempting to describe dementors as 'bad-ass soul-sucking ninjas in dressing gowns'. Snape wasn't too impressed, either."

I was still snorting and chuckling when we reached a large painting of a bowl of fruit hung on the wall. Since Harry was burdened with his kitty-present I took the liberty of giving the pear a little tickle until it giggled like Romilda Vane.

"I didn't know you knew how to get into the kitchens," Harry said, mildly impressed, as I tugged on the newly-materialised door handle.

"You're forgetting who my brothers are," I said, pulling open the door and gesturing Harry through. "And that I was a very impressionable eleven year old. Fred and George used to send me down here all the time during their parties to steal more food."

"And I thought I was the rule-breaker here," Harry muttered as we entered the kitchens and let the door swing behind us. Our arrival was met by thousands of orb-like eyes turning in our directions, several scurrying feet instantly running to fetch food (I reckoned that was the house elf motto - when in doubt, offer them biscuits) and a loud squeal from the back of the kitchens.

"Harry Potter!"

A house-elf-sized canon ball hit Harry around the middle, forcing him back several steps as Dobby the house elf wrapped his arms around Harry's waist and hugged him tightly. Harry laughed, patting Dobby on the head several times with his free hand.

"Hi, Dobby," Harry replied, grinning a little embarrassedly at me. I, however, had been struck with a sudden wave of sentiment and was resisting the urge to cry. What was _wrong_ with my tear ducts lately? I usually never cried, but my eyes had been watering all over the place these last few weeks. I'd nearly bawled like a baby the other day when Ruth had offered me her last sugar quill - and I didn't even like sugar quills!

"How've you been, Dobby?" Harry asked when the elf had released him, beaming.

"Very well, Harry Potter!" Dobby squeaked. "Dobby made a soufflé yesterday and Professor Dumbledore said it was delightful!"

"Wow," Harry said, smiling. "Nice one, Dobby."

"Thank you, Harry Potter!" Dobby turned to me, still beaming. "I see Harry Potter has brought along his lady-friend!"

"Er," Harry said.

"Hi, Dobby," I said, saving Harry from a second moment of cricket-chirping awkwardness. Not that I didn't like being referred to as Harry's lady-friend. Better than Harry's ginger friend's ginger sister.

"Hello, Miss. Wheezy!" Dobby replied, bowing low enough for his ears to brush the kitchen floor. I grinned - the few times I had come into contact with Dobby (mainly on illegal escapades down to the kitchen) I had liked him instantly, and not just because I found it endearing when he called me 'Wheezy'.

Er.

"Come!" Dobby cried, grasping mine and Harry's hands in his and pulling us towards one of the long tables set out in the middle of the kitchen. "Would Harry Potter and Miss. Wheezy like some lunch?"

"We don't want to be any trouble -" Harry started, but Dobby waved him away.

"No trouble! Harry Potter and his Wheezies are always welcome in the kitchens! We is more than happy to make food for you!"

As if to support this, several other house elves popped up holding large plates of sandwiches and teacakes. I took a scone from one of the house elves nearest to me, thanking him when he left with promises of locating some jam and cream.

"Actually, Dobby, I came to give you this," Harry said, holding out the ball of wool. "As a thank you present for" - his eyes darted over to me "- you know. I thought you could use it to knit some socks for yourself."

Dobby's eyes instantly filled with tears. While he flung his arms around Harry for a second time and began to sob into his jumper, I chomped happily on my freshly jam-and-creamed scone. Scones tasted much better without the butter. Butter made scones evil, and scones as delightful as these were not intended for evil wrong-doings. I narrowed my eyes, using my hands to momentarily shield my scone from any butter lurking about trying to turn it over to the dark side.

After several minutes Dobby's bawls had turned to hiccups and he was led away to safely stow away his present, returning several seconds later with an ever wider smile on his face, if that was physically possible, seeing as his face wasn't even that big.

"Dobby will be knitting many jumpers now!" Dobby announced. "And hats and scarves and - oh - maybe even his own earmuffs!"

I glanced dubiously at Dobby's bat like ears. There ain't gon' be no muffs fitting over them ears, I can tell you that.

"That's great, Dobby," Harry said, accepting a platter of ham and cheese sandwiches being pushed into his hands by another house elf, who proceeded to toddle off over to a counter filled with stacks of teetering saucepans. Harry turned to me, holding out the platter. "Sandwich?"

"I'm alright at the moment," I replied, motioning to my half-eaten scone, which I had to say was turning out to be the best scone I'd ever had, and not just because I was having it while sitting opposite Harry.

"So," Harry said to me when Dobby had left to tend to his meringues. "How's your life been, Ginny?"

If the sheer insanity of my internal monologue was anything to go by, my life was a mixture of lunacy, sarcasm and not-at-all socially acceptable fantasies.

"Meh," I said instead. "Not too bad."

"Hermione said you had a bad argument with Dean the other week," Harry said, munching on his ham sandwich while I rolled my eyes. Did the whole castle know about mine and Dean's multiple cat fights and mutual hatred for each other? Were Dean and I turning into _that _couple?

I could see it already. Two people would have a fight and their insults would comprise of 'Merlin's ass, stop being such a Ginny!' or 'could you _be_ any more of a Dean?'. People would start calling a break-up 'a Ginny and Dean moment'. The phrase 'I saw two ravenous Hippogriffs ripping each other to shreds the other day, they were _totally_ doing a Ginny and Dean' would become popular.

Merlin, if I knew I was going to become such an icon, I would have started paying more attention to my physical appearance.

"Yeah, we did," I said, poking at the last crumbs of my scone. "He thought it was funny when you got hit by McLaggen at the match."

"You didn't need to start an argument over me," Harry mumbled. Behind him, the house elf was trying to extract a small saucepan from the very bottom of the teetering pile, which was swaying precariously, looking ready to topple at any minute.

"I did," I protested. "Dean was being a git. You falling off your broom wasn't funny at all, it was terrifying."

"It was?"

"You could have really hurt yourself, Harry. That would have been awful."

"It would have?" Harry asked, frowning slightly, and I nodded grimly. To my uttermost surprise, Harry's face split into a wide grin, as if the prospect of him plummeting from a broomstick, crashing to the floor and seriously mutilating himself was something that made him ridiculously happy. I faltered - I seriously hoped the increasing amount of time Harry was spending in my company wasn't steadily turning him mad, as I was rather tired of being the reason for people's insanity. I already wholeheartedly blamed myself for Ruth's - she had been moderately normal when I'd met her.

"Are you alright, Harry?" I asked when he continued to beam.

"Yeah," Harry said, shaking his head a little. "I'm fine."

We sat in amiable silence for several moments, each of us gazing around the kitchens with mild interest. It appeared that the house elves were already setting up for dinner - from the smell, I guessed we were having roast pork. Ron would be pleased.

"Ginny," Harry said, breaking the silence. I looked over at him expectantly, but he appeared to be very interested in the table. He shifted from side to side nervously for several moments before sighing, looking up and starting again, "listen, Ginny -"

Just then, the aforementioned house elf succeeded in wrenching the saucepan from the pile, also managing to send the pile of saucepans above it clattering to the floor with an almighty 'crash!' that echoed around the whole room. Harry jumped, but I was too preoccupied with the very meaningful 'listen, Ginny' that Harry had just thrown in my direction to be surprised.

He had said 'listen, Ginny'. It hadn't been just a casual 'listen, Ginny, these sandwiches are dreadful, let's leave' or even a quizzical 'listen, Ginny, do you hear folk music?', it had been an altogether more significant 'listen, Ginny, I think you are the most amazing girl on the planet, please marry me' or any other 'listen, Ginny, [please enter confession of undying and irrevocable love here]'s you can think of.

Basically, Harry had been about to initiate a heartfelt conversation that would no doubt have made me more blissfully happy than I had ever been before in my life, and now he was too busy picking up bloody saucepans to continue.

"Harry?" I called over the clamour of several pairs of feet hurrying to pick up saucepans. It was only when they had all been picked up and returned to their pile that Harry sat back down opposite me and said,

"Yeah?"

"You were saying something before and you didn't finish," I explained, my attempt to keep my voice casual failing. "What were you going to say?"

"Oh, um -" Harry shook his head, running an awkward hand through his hair. "It doesn't matter."

"Really?" I pressed, but even I knew that the moment had gone. Disappeared like Snape's hygiene and Dumbledore's sanity.

"It was nothing," Harry said, and then, in a bid to change the subject, he held the platter of ham and cheese sandwiches out to me and asked, "sandwich?"

Damning my ruddy bad luck and the house elves inability to correctly stack their saucepans to Hell, I nodded glumly and said, "go on then."

* * *

"Stupid Twycross dung-head," Dean muttered savagely as we ascended the marble staircase. Dean and I had finished our dinner several minutes ago and, through some cruel twist of fate mainly owing to the fact that most people were unwilling to come within several feet of either of us, had ended up walking back up to the common room together. "I'll give you deliberation, you -"

Dean had been cursing the Apparition Instructor all through dinner and I therefore had gotten the impression that his Apparition test this afternoon _hadn't_ gone well, which would also explain Dean's foul mood. My insistences that he possibly failed due to the uncanny similarities between him and a hippopotamus probably hadn't helped either.

"It's not his fault you can't Apparate," I said eventually, sick of having to listen to Dean's grumbles.

"Shut up, Ginny," Dean snapped as we waited for the staircase we were stood on to carry us to the correct corridor. "I'm not in the mood for your shit right now."

"Are you ever in the mood?" I demanded, adding on in a mutter, "grumpy old crap bag."

"What was that?"

"Never mind."

The situation between Dean and I had not become any less catastrophic since yesterday - though Ruth had accepted my apology for wishing her death-by-cucumber - and our feelings of loathing towards each other were about as strong as ever. So much so, in fact, that when we passed through the portrait hole into the common room and I distinctly felt Dean's hand on my elbow, I couldn't help but spin around and demand,

"_Don't_ push me, please, Dean You're always doing that, I can get through perfectly well on my own."

Ignoring the collective groans and eye rolls around us and the quiet mumble of 'here we go again' Dean retorted angrily,

"I didn't do anything!"

"Yes, you did!" I argued, pointing to my elbow. "You _always_ grab my arm whenever I'm walking through the portrait hole or getting off my broom or whatever. I'm not a complete idiot, Dean, I don't need your help!"

"I didn't touch you!"

"What, so you think some _invisible being_ tried to push me through instead?" I snorted loudly. "Don't be ridiculous."

"Oh, so I'm ridiculous now?" Dean demanded.

"Yes," I retorted plainly, crossing my arms over my chest. "And I'm sick of it. I'm sick of you always trying to push me around, bitching all the time and starting arguments about _every little thing_."

"You're sick of _me_ starting arguments about every little thing?" Dean demanded, letting out a shout of disbelieving laughter, though his eyes were narrowed. "Seriously, Ginny? You're such a hypocrite!"

I stood there silently, glaring my cross-me-and-I'll-eat-your-face glare. After several moments Dean widened his eyes sarcastically and began to tap his foot on the floor as if to say 'I'm waiting'. I rolled my eyes in disgust. Dean had an infallible ability to make me want to punch him in the face on a regular basis, and I knew that if I stayed in his presence for much longer I might actually do just that. I turned on my heel and walked straight back out of the common room and into the corridor.

"And now you're walking away," Dean shouted after me, following me through the portrait hole, which closed on the loud cheers of the joyful Gryffindors, who were celebrating the rare moment of peace that mine and Dean's departure allowed them.

"Yes, Dean. That's what smart people call putting one foot in front of the other in rapid succession. _Walking_."

"It's what you always do, isn't it?" he continued, acting as if I had never spoken. "We get in a fight and you leave."

"Never works though, seeing as you always follow me," I called over my shoulder, passing under a thick tapestry into a smaller, deserted corridor.

"I follow you because I'm trying to make this relationship _work_."

I spun around, causing Dean to stutter to a halt in front of me. "You're trying to make this relationship work?" I repeated, but for some reason my voice lacked enough cynicism to make it an insult. Instead, it just sounded tired.

Dean exhaled heavily, looking down at his shoes and running a hand through his hair. "I used to," he said eventually. "Recently, I've been lacking the motivation."

"I know what you mean," I replied, snorting humourlessly and crossing my arms over my chest. We stood in silence for several moments, listening to the muffled bangs and clatters of Peeves destroying the Trophy Room several floors above us. Eventually, Dean broke the silence.

"Why do we do this to ourselves, Ginny?" Dean asked wearily, leaning back against the wall of the corridor. "Why do we put ourselves through all of this misery?"

"Because we're Dean and Ginny," I replied simply, one corner of my lips lifting in a dour smile. "It's just what we do."

"It's funny, isn't it," Dean started, his gloomy voice contradicting his statement, "how we both know that this is over, but neither of us wants to admit it."

"Funny isn't the word I'd use," I said, glancing over at him when he chuckled. "Pathetic, maybe."

"It's not pathetic," Dean said, shaking his head. "I reckon neither of us can let go because, despite how much we try to forget it, once upon a time we didn't hate each other. Not long ago we actually _liked_ each other."

"Those were the days, eh?" I asked, the half-hearted derision in my voice robbing the statement of any real sarcastic impact.

"I miss them," Dean said honestly, shrugging a shoulder.

"Me too," I said quietly. "We both know we're never going to get them back, though. We've both changed too much."

"Yeah," Dean said, his voice glum. "I know."

"So this is it, then." It wasn't a question.

"This is it." Not exactly an answer, either.

"You know, when I imagined this moment, there was a lot more screaming," I admitted with a rueful smile.

"I think I've had enough screaming for a lifetime," Dean said dryly.

"I think the whole school has."

"I really did love you, you know," Dean said after a pause, glancing over at me for the first time in a while. "I know I never really told you, but I did."

"Yeah," I mumbled quietly, staring at the scuffed toes of my shoes. "I know."

"You should also know," he continued, pushing off the wall, "that whoever you end up with, whether it's next week or ten years from now, is an _incredibly_ lucky bloke. Because you're amazing, Ginny, and I only wish I'd told you that more when we were going out."

When we _were_ going out. It was officially over then. For some reason, I couldn't shake off the wave of sadness that washed over me after realising this.

"Thank you, Dean," I said, my smile sincere despite the tinge of gloom. "And just so you know, I probably won't approve of any of the girls queueing up to be your girlfriend when people find out about this."

"I wouldn't have it any other way," Dean quipped, grinning. He raised his hand in a small, sad farewell wave. His next words were quiet, but they were more final and absolute than any insult we could have thrown at each other. They were an ending. "Bye, Ginny."

"Bye, Dean," I said, watching the tapestry flutter back into place as he disappeared through it, walking away.

* * *

I stood in the empty corridor for about half an hour after Dean had left, staring at the stones on the opposite wall. The gas lamps had dimmed, both signalling that the curfew had passed and submerging the corridor in semidarkness.

I couldn't believe it was over. I couldn't believe Dean and I were over. I had been anticipating our breakup for months now - worrying, wondering, even fantasising about it - and now it had come and gone. It had been a monumental event in my life, and I felt like I'd missed it. It had been so fast - a simple 'so this is it?' and it was done. I suppose I'd expected to feel something - some sort of relief or indication that it had been the right thing to do - but I didn't feel anything. It felt like I'd been watching the spectacle take place without really understanding what had gone on.

I walked back up to the common room in a daze, ignoring the curious glances and whispers around me as I bypassed the Gryffindor common room and ascended the stairs to my dormitory. When I pushed the door open I found Ruth, Hermione and Luna clustered in a circle on Ruth's bed, a packet of Exploding Cards scattered between them.

"Hey, Ginny," Ruth said when the door closed behind me, throwing a card down onto the bed. "You never told me Hermione was so _terrible_ at Exploding Snap, I didn't think there was anything she couldn't - wait, what's wrong?"

Ruth, glancing up from her cards briefly to wonder why I hadn't interrupted her already, had caught sight of my numb expression and frowned instantly. Hermione and Luna's heads rose too, confusion evident on their faces when their gazes found me.

"Um," I started, my voice shaking slightly. The words didn't seem to want to leave my mouth, but for once I forced my lips to comply. "Dean and I are over."

"What?"

"We broke up."

There was a loud _bang!_ as the cards on the bed exploded, sending up several yellow sparks and a large puff of purple smoke. When the smoke dissipated, leaving a distinct smell of burning, I saw Hermione, Ruth and Luna gaping at me. The singed bedclothes between them lay forgotten.

"Really?" Hermione breathed.

I nodded.

"Are you" - Ruth glanced at Hermione and Luna, who both looked too perplexed to come to her aid - "are you okay?"

I managed a mixture of a nod and a shrug before the emotion that had been welling inside of my stomach chose that exact moment to crash over me, and my nod-shrug blurred into a shake of the head, the burning sensation in my eyes turning into thick tears that spilled embarrassingly over onto my cheeks.

Hermione, Ruth and Luna's reactions were instantaneous. Had Hermione been the one crying she may have only got a few pats on the back - Heck, if Lavender would have burst into tears no one would have even batted an eyelid - but because it was me, the one who never cried, the three of them instantly sprang from the bed and hurried over to engulf me in hugs and stroke my hair as I stood in the middle of the dormitory, crying my eyes out.

"Come on," Ruth said soothingly when my tears had turned to hiccups, leading me over to my bed - hers was still smoking slightly, though no one seemed to have noticed. "Come sit down."

"Oh Ginny," Hermione said, curling up next to me when I collapsed against the headboard. "Was it bad?"

"No," I sniffed, shaking my head. "It wasn't bad at all. I have no idea why I'm crying."

"You're crying because it's normal to cry," Hermione said, smiling a little. "It _helps_ to cry."

"Who broke up with who?" Ruth asked softly, sitting down on my other side. Luna appeared to have disappeared.

"It was mutual," I said, accepting the tissue Ruth offered me and wiping my face - I must have looked like a huge blotch of snot. _So _not attractive. "We both knew it was over."

"We thought -" Hermione glanced over at Ruth, who shrugged. "I suppose we just thought you'd be relieved. I mean, you've wanted to end things with Dean for a while."

"I am relieved," I said, nodding. For the first time in a long while, my head was uncluttered enough for me to be able to clearly see this. My outburst of emotion had apparently made all of the confusion and clutter in my mind glaringly obvious. Maybe I should've cried more often. It would have made my life a whole lot easier. "I'm still upset though. Don't know why, like."

"You went out with him for quite a while," Ruth reminded me.

"It's okay to be upset sometimes, Ginny," Hermione added with a rueful smile.

"I suppose. You know what, I thought breaking up with Dean would make me feel a lot more lonely." I shrugged. "But I don't."

"That's because you're not alone," Ruth said, grinning. "You have us."

At that moment, the door swung open and Luna walked in, juggling what looked like several large containers and boxes in her arms.

"Where did you go?" Ruth asked, frowning at Luna as she approached the bed.

"To get emergency supplies," Luna replied simply.

"And you came back with" - Hermione paused, a disbelieving smile flitting onto her face - "ice cream and chocolate?"

"Yes," Luna said, grinning as she opened her arms and let the stash of sugary-goodness she was holding drop onto the bed in front of her. Several large tubs of vanilla and chocolate ice cream rolled towards us, followed by three large bars of Honeydukes chocolate, a packet of chocolate frogs, several sugar quills, four bottles of butterbeer, a box of tissues and, oddly, a cheesecake.

"Woah," Ruth said, laughing through her surprise. "Where in Merlin did you get this from?"

"The kitchens," Luna said, plopping down onto the bed and handing us each a spoon. "I went down and told the house elves my friend had just broken up with her boyfriend, so they gave me this." She frowned, pausing in the action of opening a tub of vanilla ice cream. "A house elf with yellow ear muffs also told me to tell someone called Wheezy to 'feel better soon'. I checked in the common room, but I don't think there is anyone called Wheezy in this school. I have to go back and check the kitchens for an infestation of Wrackspurts..."

"You know, Hermione," Ruth said as I started on a bar of chocolate and Hermione began to unwrap a sugar quill. "I might take you up on your offer to join S.P.E.W. People don't give those house elves enough credit."

* * *

**A/N****: Finally! I have to admit though, no matter how much I was looking forward to getting rid of Dean, I was a little sad writing the end of this chapter :( **

**Also, I know I promised you a quick update, but I found the second half of this chapter (ie. the breakup) _very_ hard to write. Since this story is the funny/crazy sort, it's hard to add in the little serious moments while still keeping it light-hearted enough. I had the first half finished about a week after I'd updated chapter 23, but the prospect of updating it and having to write _another_ chapter of Ginny and Dean fighting was kind of soul destroying.**

**Also, I've noticed in the reviews (which are GREAT and I'm so insanely grateful for everyone who has been reviewing) that a lot of people are saying 'I can't wait for Harry and Ginny to get together!' and stuff like that. My original plan when I had the idea for this story and throughout the writing of it was to end the fic with Harry and Ginny's kiss, ie. when the operation ended, but now I'm not sure whether people are hoping that it will go on after that. So now I don't know what to do. Hmmmmm. Going with my original plan of ending the story when Harry and Ginny kiss also means thatthere will only be a few chapters of _The Monster in_ _Her Chest_ left. That makes me kind of sad :(**

**But enough depression for one chapter. I think you all deserve some cyber cookies. YAY FOR CYBER COOKIES. Nom nom nom.**

**ALSO (I need to stop saying also), according to google and the trusty hp-lexicon, this fic has more words than Philosopher's Stone, Chamber of Secrets and Prisoner of Azkaban. Not put together, separately. Still pretty cool though, eh?**

**ANYWAYS, this A/N has been rather long. I have my Easter hols coming up so I'll probably update again then. Thank you so much for all the reviews!**

**Toodles, SPS**

**_[EDIT: For like the past two weeks FF has been experiencing some technical problems resulting in a lot of people not being able to update their stories (grr!) but a lovely person posted an alternative way to update on a help forum about two hours ago, so extra cookies for them!]_  
**


	25. Chapter 25: One of a Kind

**A/N****: Hoorah!**

_**Special Disclaimer Note and what not: a section of the dialogue for this chapter was taken directly from the Harry Potter and the HBP book. I'm sure you'll be able to tell which bits I've copied (since they're a lot less crazy and crappy than my original stuff) but yeah, it's not mine and what not :)**_

* * *

**Chapter 25 - One of a Kind**

The next week passed in a blur of revision, quidditch practice and general tomfoolery. Somewhere around the beginning of May, Hermione had, in a fit of excitement and glee, drawn up an O.W.L. revision timetable for me and charmed it to scream things like 'fail to prepare, prepare to fail!' in a shrill voice whenever I tried to take a break to sleep, eat or breathe.

I actually got the feeling that Hermione was quite jealous of my impending exams, especially following the night I had spent in the library with her several days previously. While I had doodled on the edge of my fourth year Charms notes, she had sent me frequent jealous glares over the top of her _So You've Reached Your Sixth Year: A Workaholic's Guide To Dealing With Exam And Revision Withdrawal Symptoms_ self-help book, of which she was already up to chapter eight, 'When Relaxing Just Won't Do, There's Always Gilderoy Lockhart'. Though, she proceeded to tell me with a disgruntled face, she had already read all of Lockhart's books for _fun_ when she was twelve, so reading them to waste time as the book suggested was pretty pointless. Though, saying that, I did see her sneaking off to the 'Abysmal Excuses For Literature' (as it had been so aptly named by Pince) section of the library several moments later.

'Your exams are in a month and a half, Ginny,' she snapped, thumping several of Lockhart's earlier books onto the table in front of me. The mini-Lockhart in the picture emblazoned across the front was thrown past the edge of the frame in a blur of robes and golden hair and what-not. 'You should have started revising weeks ago!'

'Hermione,' I said, for what must have been the seventy-fifth time since we'd reached the library five minutes ago, 'I am the _only_ fifth year Gryffindor who has already started revising.'

'What about the Ravenclaws?' Hermione accused, widening her eyes at me. 'I bet _they've _all started revising.'

'That's because they're _Ravenclaws_. Plus, I have quidditch practice three times week.'

'Hm.' Hermione leant back in her chair and adopted a contemplative look. 'I'll have to talk to Harry about that. I'm sure quidditch is making Demelza and Katie fall behind on their revision, too. Now, you've wasted three minutes arguing with me when you could have been memorising the theory behind cheering charms. I'll go and find that _Charms In Depth_ book I was telling you about.'

While Hermione skipped away to the other side of the library, I resisted the urge to slam my forehead against the desk - judging by the sad look Hermione got on her face whenever she read over any of my essays, I apparently couldn't afford to lose any more brain cells. Instead I chose to flop my head onto the textbook in front of me.

'Uh - Ginny?'

I raised my head wearily from the book to find Harry was hovering in front of the desk, looking both perturbed and amused.

'Oh,' I said, my tiredness dampening any embarrassment at being found with parchment stuck to my face and ink smudged on my nose by the one person who made me squee. 'Hi, Harry.'

'Are you - um - okay?'

'Just peachy.' Note the sarcasm. 'What're you here for?'

'I was looking for Hermione, actually,' Harry said, glancing around the library.

'Ugh,' I grumbled. 'She's over there finding a billion more books for me to read.' Note the disgruntlement.

'Oh,' Harry said knowingly, dropping into the chair Hermione had just vacated. 'I see. Has Hermione gone revision crazy again?'

'She's making me flash cards, Harry. _Flash cards_. I don't know how much more of this I can take.'

'So tell her to ease off a bit,' Harry said, shrugging.

'And watch her cry for three hours?'

'Seriously, if you think this is bad, try having to deal with her when she's got exams too.' Harry widened his eyes ominously, and I could practically see the horrors of all-day study sessions and coloured diagrams reflected in his irises. I shivered.

'She gets worse than this?' I whispered.

'Has she started to wake you up for surprise tests at half four in the morning yet?'

'No.'

'Bloody Merlin, Gin. You haven't even reached Stage Two yet.'

I paled. 'There are _stages_?'

'Oh Ginny,' Harry said, leaning forward to clap me pityingly on the back. Note the quickening of my heart beat.

'How many stages are there?'

'Do you really want to know?'

Oh dear Merlin. I loved Hermione and everything, but if she made me look at one more spider-diagram then my head was going to explode and there would be shrivelled, exhausted Ginny-brains splattered all over the walls. And Fred and George told me that brains don't come out of wallpaper easily (I pointedly refused to inquire as to how they knew that, but have since refused to eat any of the products they've offered me. I prefer my food brain-matter-free).

'I've moved tomorrow's quidditch practice to half seven, by the way. Peakes has a gobstones tournament at six.'

I momentarily forgot my misery and despair and frowned. 'Peakes plays gobstones?'

Harry nodded. 'Apparently.'

'Hm.'

'So,' Harry started, picking up my criminally over-used quill and rolling it through his fingers. 'Hermione told me about you and Dean. You know - breaking up. How - er - are you okay?'

'I'm fine.'

Harry sent me a disbelieving look, complete with a raised eyebrow and slight pursing of the lips. I shivered again, but this time not from fear.

'Really, Harry,' I insisted, smiling a little. 'I was a bit upset at first, but I'm honestly fine now. I think everyone within a fifteen mile radius of Hogwarts knew we were going to break up eventually.'

'I thought you were happy to 'exist' with him,' Harry said, the doubt in his voice doing nothing to hide the slight hint of accusation. To cover this, he sent me a small smile.

'I suppose I finally listened to what people have been telling me for months - that there's no point being with someone you don't particularly like.'

'And you're completely okay now?' Harry asked.

'Completely,' I pressed, grinning.

'Good,' Harry said, leaning back in his chair, one corner of his delectable mouth turning up in a small smirk. 'I've missed happy Ginny.'

I blinked. 'I didn't know that she'd gone somewhere.'

'She hadn't gone very far, it's just' - Harry cheeks flushed and he shrugged - 'I noticed you'd seemed a bit upset recently. I'm glad you're okay now.'

I glanced curiously at Harry from the corner of my eye, but he was pointedly refusing to look at me and instead starting resolutely out of the window at the darkening sky. I felt my cheeks lifting into a smile and was quite glad when Hermione returned to pop the bubble of awkwardness - squeeful, tummy fluttering awkwardness - that had descended on us. At least until I saw the stack of books balanced in her arms.

'Oh, hello, Harry,' Hermione said, skipping merrily over to the desk and slamming three hefty textbooks on top of my already open Charms textbook. 'What're you doing here?'

'Looking for you, actually,' Harry said, sniggering when I groaned loudly and flopped dejectedly off the desk, not caring about how unattractive I looked half-slumped on my chair. It was official - I had given up on life itself. 'Ron tried to mend the broken strap on his bag himself and now it's bouncing around the common room singing Celestina Warbeck.'

Hermione barely sighed - it seemed she was used to Ron's shenanigans.

'Again?' she asked in a bored tone.

Harry nodded. 'It's not leaking pumpkin juice this time, though.'

'Fine, I'll be up in a few minutes, I just need to highlight the important chapters in this book for Ginny.' Facepalm. 'And maybe we can work on some of her flashcards together.' Double facepalm. 'Oh, and on that subject, Harry, I need to talk to you. You need to stop scheduling so many quidditch practices when half of your team have exams.' Triple facepalm. 'There are more important things in life than quidditch.'

Because my face was rather starting to hurt from the amount of times I was smacking it, I decided to portray my utter exasperation with a very over-dramatic, teenage angst-like, I'm-so-tortured-why-are-you-doing-this-to-me-you-cruel-cruel-fiend sigh while Harry gasped in horror.

'You don't mean that,' he retorted instantly, wincing. 'You - you can't mean that, Hermione. Please say you don't mean that.'

'So, Ginny,' Hermione started, pointedly ignoring Harry, who still looked slightly shaken at Hermione's cruel, cruel manifestation. 'I was thinking if we started on charms for inanimate objects and -'

'Hermione,' I interrupted loudly. 'Hermione - honestly, I really appreciate all of your help, but I think I'm going to call it a night and go to bed. I'm a little tired.'

I knew I had said something very wrong when Harry facepalmed and Hermione adopted the expression she usually reserved for the twins when they were testing the skiving snackboxes on first years or 'accidentally' slipping fainting fancies into people's pumpkin juice.

'A _little_ tired?' she demanded, slamming her hands onto the table and causing Pince to scowl over at us. 'You're a _little_ tired, are you? You'd like to go to _bed_, would you?'

'Oh dear,' Harry murmured.

'You're scheduled to revise until half past nine, Ginny, and it's only eight o'clock.'

'Come on, Hermione, you must have stopped to _sleep_ during your O.W.L.'s -'

'I did. _Once_. And _that's_ why I got an E in my Defence Against the Dark Arts O.W.L. rather than an O. Do you want to fail your O.W.L.'s, Ginny? Would you rather have _sleep_ than _success_ -?'

'Preferably, I'd like to survive long enough to see success, and I'm not going to survive if you don't let me sleep -'

'You have exactly five weeks until your exams start, Ginny, and so for the next five weeks exams are the _only_ thing you should be thinking about. You need to eat, sleep and breathe revision. I don't _care_ if you're tired, you should be revising until you feel like you're going to faint, and if you do faint, then it means you're not concentrating hard enough!'

'Holy shit,' I said, leaning away from Hermione's flailing arms. Her hair was frazzling with anger and her cheeks were blotched red, and she had a fierce look in her eyes that made me want to move all sharp or pointy objects out of her reach. I leant forward and slowly pushed the hefty books, which could do a fair bit of damage to someone's skull, towards the other end of the table.

'Alright, Hermione,' Harry interjected soothingly, standing up and placing his hands safely on her shoulders. 'I think Ginny understands how much revision she needs to do, but not everyone is as flawlessly hard-working as you are.'

Apparently flattery worked, as Hermione had stopped gripping the desk and was taking calming breaths in and out.

'Now, why don't we go back to the common room and fix Ron's bag while Ginny finishes up her work.'

'Okay,' Hermione said after a pause, nodding. 'I can do that.'

'Alright,' Harry said in the same soothing tone, steering Hermione towards the door of the library.

When Hermione was several metres away, Harry darted back over to me and muttered furiously,

'You have just entered Stage Three. Run, run for your life, Ginny!'

With his final, menacing proclamation hanging in the air between us like a cloud of foreboding, he sprinted back over to Hermione and led her safely back up to the common room, where she couldn't torment me any more.

* * *

'Hey, Ron, isn't that Lavender down there?'

Ron, who had been poised on his broom ready to defend the goalposts as I sped towards him with the Quaffle tucked underneath my arm, yelped and spun around in the direction I was pointing, almost succeeding in sliding backwards off his broom in an attempt to hide from his crazy-ass ex-girlfriend. Cackling, I took advantage of his momentary distraction to lob the Quaffle through the unguarded centre hoop, breaking out into an arm-flailing victory dance when a loud _ping!_ signified that I had scored.

'Ginny!' Ron yelled angrily, his cheeks flushing red as straightened himself up and tried to ignore the rest of the team's chuckles. 'That may have been funny the first time, but it's not funny the ninth time! Stop it!'

'Stop falling for it then,' I retorted childishly, sticking my tongue out at him for good measure. It was Saturday night, and the team was celebrating Katie's return with a quidditch practice, which had so far consisted mainly of Peakes and Coote trying to see who could hold their breath for the longest (though it was hard to tell who won, seeing as each one of them kept hitting the other in the stomach with their Beater's bats to try and break the other's concentration before Katie could come up with a decision), me making fun of Ron and Harry laughing. A lot.

'Ginny,' the chuckling-Captain-in-question groaned, badly stifling his chortles as he flew over to my side. I felt my heart give an excited wiggle and grinned - I was immensely enjoying the fact that I could now stare openly at Harry's delectable face without feeling guilty about what Dean may or may not have thought. Not that I really cared what Dean had thought before, but now I didn't have to worry about that fact that I didn't feel at all guilty and what that said about my conscience or lack thereof.

'Yes, Harry?' I replied sweetly.

'I'm not saying that your impressions of Ron aren't hilarious or that you shouldn't do that in next week's match, Gin, but Ron isn't going to be able to practice properly if you keep doing that to him.'

'Come on, Harry, it's not like he practices much anyway,' I said with an airy wave of my hand, breaking out into another impression of Ron bobbing nervously up and down on his broomstick, flinching whenever someone so much as mentioned the word 'Quaffle' or 'Lav-Lav.'

'Ginny,' Harry warned, though the threat in his voice was destroyed by the fact that he laughed for a good three minutes after it.

'Don't even get me started on you, Potter,' I said menacingly, giving him a quick preview of my Harry-Screaming-Bloody-Murder-At-McLaggen-Before-Getting-Whacked-In-The-Face-By-A-Bludger impression, the full display of which I was saving for parties.

'I did not call McLaggen a poop-nosed fruitcake!' Harry protested hotly while Katie and Coote laughed, Demelza and Peakes made eyes at each other (a recent development in their 'we're-just-friends-we-swear-I-mean-he's-a-year-younger-than-me-but-doesn't-he-have-a-cute-smile' relationship) and Ron bobbed anxiously.

'Nah, you called him a pig-headed prat,' Coote corrected, swinging his bat over his shoulder.

'Didn't you call him butt-trumpet?' Demelza intoned, dragging her attention away from Jimmy's ass long enough to ask, 'what even is that?'

'McLaggen is a pig-headed prat, though,' Harry defended, pouting.

'Excuse me?' Ron called from the goalposts. His anxious bobbing had grown even more anxious over the last few minutes of Harry-teasing and had now turned into full-blown bouncing. 'Can we stop talking and start practising? I want to get to dinner before all the steak pie has gone.'

'Alright, alright,' Harry said, sending the rest of the team off to continue their flying drills.

'Oh, on that note, Ron,' I said, turning to face him and gesturing to the changing rooms. 'Isn't that Lavender down there?'

'_Ginny!_'

* * *

The following Tuesday night saw Hermione and I sitting on the squishy armchairs in the common room that her, Harry and Ron usually occupied. One complication of breaking up with Dean that I hadn't foreseen was that I now had to find somewhere else to sit in the common room, since I could no longer sit with Dean and Seamus, especially when Jayson and Ruth were off doing unspeakable things in an empty classroom somewhere.

Hermione was glaring icily at me over the top of her fourth year Transfiguration notes. She had grown increasingly ill-tempered over the past few days, no doubt owing to my refusal to comply with her revision timetable, and had descended into a surly silence when I told her that I was not setting foot in the library that night and I needed a break. She had been huffing and puffing melodramatically ever since. It was extremely annoying.

'You know, Hermione, just because I'm not going to the library doesn't mean you can't,' I told her, adding on internally, _so piss off_.

'Hmph,' was all she said.

'Have either of you seen Harry?'

I looked up, frowning at Ron, who was standing above us, his eyes wide and his tone frantic.

'No,' I said, pushing myself up from my slumped position. Hermione momentarily forgot her rage in lieu of looking curiously at Ron, who had thrown himself into an armchair across from me.

'Damn,' he growled.

'What's wrong?' I asked worriedly. Frantic tones and Harry Potter did not go well together.

'He ran up to me about an hour ago, covered in blood, and asked if he could have my Potions book, and I haven't seen him since.'

'He was _covered in blood_?' I demanded, my voice rising. Several people around us turned to stare, and Hermione threw me a look that suggested my loud tones irked her almost as much as my 'laziness' and 'lack of commitment to my education' (her words) did.

'What do you mean, covered in blood?' Hermione challenged in a quieter voice.

'How many meanings can 'covered in blood' have?'

'Was he hurt?' I pressed.

'I don't think so, he just looked really scared and crazy -'

'And you don't know where is he is now?' Hermione asked.

'No, he ran off -'

'Why didn't you follow him?'

'He was running pretty fast, Ginny! And besides - Harry!'

Whatever retorts Hermione and I had been about to throw at Ron died in our mouths as Harry had just clambered through the portrait hole, looking sullen and annoyed and, true to Ron's word, covered in blood.

'What the Hell happened to you?' Ron demanded, glaring at Harry as he dropped into a spare armchair.

'Malfoy's what happened to me,' Harry growled.

'Did Malfoy do this to you?' I gestured to Harry's matted shirt.

'No, I did this to Malfoy,' Harry replied, refusing to meet my eye.

'Harry - is that _Malfoy's_ blood?' Hermione gasped.

'Sure is,' he said bitterly.

'Harry, what the Hell happened?' Ron repeated.

Harry sighed heavily and, in an indignant mumble, began to tell us exactly why he was covered in Malfoy's blood. I dimly registered something about crying and ghosts and curses and hexes, but all of that paled to insignificance when Harry spat,

'And then Snape gave me detention every Saturday until the end of term, _including_ this Saturday.'

'But' - Ron and I sent each other disbelieving looks - 'Saturday's the match against Ravenclaw, Harry.'

Harry's eyes flew up to mine. 'I know,' he said in a clipped tone.

'Don't tell me that bastard's not letting you play?' Ron demanded incredulously.

'Of course he's not letting me play,' Harry growled. '_Poor Gryffindor, fourth place this year, I fear_. Bloody git.'

I stared stupidly at Harry's fierce face, feeling as if someone had just hit me over the head with a Beater's bat. Harry couldn't play on Saturday. We were down a Seeker _and_ a Captain. We were going to be _slaughtered_.

Suddenly, Hermione, who had been suspiciously quiet during the whole exchanged, intoned loftily, 'I won't say "I told you so".'

'Leave it, Hermione,' Ron growled, and I wholeheartedly resisted the urge to cry 'hear hear!' and flick something hard at Hermione's forehead.

An hour later, after Harry had been called to McGonagall's office and returned to find the team waiting anxiously to hear what had happened, the four of us were sat again on the squishy chairs next to the fire, which were becoming increasingly less comfortable with every second that passed and the pain of our impending defeat sunk in a little deeper. The team had left after Harry's devastating announcement, each with varying expressions of distress and hysteria, leaving Ron and I with the job of attempting to console Harry who, understandably, was unconsolable.

'As long as we make sure we're at least two hundred and fifty points above Ravenclaw at all times, we'll be in with a chance of winning the cup.'

While Harry made no gesture to show that he had even registered what Ron had said, I snorted and muttered, 'no pressure or anything.'

'We're going to lose,' Harry intoned sagely. 'And it's all my bloody fault.'

'I told you there was something wrong with that Prince person,' Hermione snapped while I resisted the urge to punch her, something that would have surprised me had my entire self not been busy with being angry and cursing Snape to oblivion. 'And I was right, wasn't I?'

'No, I don't think you were,' Harry retorted, glaring at the fire. He had refused to look any of us in the eye for longer than a few seconds since he had returned to the common room two hours ago. I was thoroughly tempted to fling my arms around him and hug him until he agreed to look at me again - I was beginning to miss his beautiful, beautiful eyes - but the more rational part of my brain told me that it would be 'inappropriate' and what not. That didn't mean I didn't have to sit on my hands to stop myself from lunging at him, however.

'Harry, how can you stick up for that book when that spell -'

'Will you stop harping on about the book!' Harry burst fiercely. 'The prince only copied it out! It's not like he was advising anyone to use it! For all we know, he was making a note of something that had been used against him!'

While I busied myself with being thoroughly confused (who the Hell was the 'prince'? Perhaps it was a nickname Harry had made up for himself. While my brain told me that that was quite sad, a small part of me was secretly excited about the prospect of being a princess if Harry and I ever did get together) Hermione went on to snap,

'I don't believe this. You're actually defending -'

'I'm not defending what I did! I wish I hadn't done it, and not just because I've got about a dozen detentions.' Damn Snape, the butt-trumpet. 'You know I wouldn't've used a spell like that, not even on Malfoy, but you can't blame the Prince, he hadn't written "Try this out, it's really good" - he was just making notes for himself, wasn't he, not for anyone else...'

'Are you telling me that you're going to go back -?'

'And get the book? Yeah, I am. Listen, without the Prince I would never have won the Felix Felicis. I'd have never have known how to save Ron from poisoning. I'd never have -'

'- got the reputation for Potions brilliance you don't deserve.'

Okay, so I was now _thoroughly _befuddled, but that didn't stop me from being pissed off at Hermione for being so nasty and making Harry look all disheartened and crushed like he did. No one upset my Potter-Ific and got away with it.

'Give it a rest, Hermione!' I snapped. 'By the sound of it Malfoy was trying to use an Unforgivable Curse, you should be glad Harry had something good up his sleeve!'

'Well, of course I'm glad Harry wasn't cursed!' Hermione garbled. 'But you can't call that _Sectumsempra_ spell good, Ginny, look where it's landed him! And I'd have thought, seeing what this has done to your chances in the match -'

Hah! This coming from the over-bearing prat who had the nerve to demand that Harry _cancel_ his quidditch practices so she could spend her time torturing me in the library, which, by the way, I was _never_ going to let her do again, no siree, I wasn't.

Okay, so by _that_ point I was so angry I could practically see the steam pouring out of my ears, but _maybe_ I shouldn't have been so snappy with Hermione. Still, she was pissing me off. And Weasleys don't like to be pissed off.

'Oh, don't start acting like you understand Quidditch, you'll only embarrass yourself.'

There was an absorbing silence, in which Hermione glared at me, Ron tried to pretend he was reading _Twelve Fail-Safe Ways to Charm Wizards _(it was clear Hermione was _seriously _running out of reading material) and Harry tried to hide the fact that he was smiling for the first time that afternoon.

'Hmph!' Hermione intoned in disgust and, throwing one last disdainful glare in my direction, she snatched the book from Ron's unrelenting fingers and marched up to the girls' dormitories. Ron, left with nothing to hide behind, mumbled something about going to find food ('I _did_ miss dinner, you know, and I heard they were having steak') and left the common room. Leaving me and Harry sat alone on the not-so-squishy-any-more armchairs.

I looked at Harry. Harry looked at me. We both looked away. Someone coughed. Crickets chirped.

'Uh,' Harry said, finally breaking the awkward silence. He cleared his throat needlessly. 'Thanks for - you know. That.'

'Don't worry about it,' I said quickly, glancing down at my sock to hide the fact that I was blushing. 'Hermione was out of order.'

'Still,' Harry said to his knees. 'Thanks - and I'm sorry.'

I looked up, my eyebrows furrowing in confusion. 'What for?'

Harry face was disbelieving as he reminded me in a slow voice, 'for getting myself banned from Saturday's match?'

'Oh, that,' I mumbled stupidly. 'You have nothing to apologise, it wasn't your fault.'

'Uh - yes it was,' Harry said, frowning.

'I mean - to be honest, Harry, I would have done the same thing in your shoes. A lot of people would have. Even Hermione, though she'd never in a million years admit it. Malfoy tried to use an Unforgivable, it was only natural that you would defend yourself.'

'I could have used _Expelliarmus_ though,' Harry mumbled, slumping down in the armchair.

'You could have done a number of things, but you didn't.' I shrugged, adopting the same slumped position - surprisingly, it made the not-so-comfy-any-more armchairs marginally less-not-so-comfy. 'There's no point fretting about it now, it's already done. Now, we just have to focus on how to give us a chance of winning on Saturday.'

'I'm sorry to make you play Seeker, I know you much prefer Chaser.'

I smirked at Harry, stretching my leg to tap his shin lightly with the side of my foot. 'Stop apologising.'

Harry glanced up at me, one of his cheeks lifting in a tiny smile. 'Sorry.'

'Besides, Dean's not a terrible Chaser,' I sighed flatly, trying not the let the annoyance at having to play alongside his hippo breath again leak into my voice.

'He's not you though,' Harry complained.

'What can I say, I'm one of a kind,' I said in a mocking voice, thought the downright crappiness of the situation had robbed me of any enthusiasm, and my accompanying 'hoorah, look at me, I'm amazing' arm wave was a little limp.

'Yeah, you are.'

My head shot over to Harry. Had he not been blushing like a ripe tomato covered in cranberry juice, I may have believed that I was simply imagining things and Harry really hadn't said that. However, the fact that Harry had now risen from his seat and was mumbling incoherent things under his breath left me in no doubt that I had heard correctly.

Harry thought I was one of a kind. _One of a kind. _Whether or not he meant it in the 'you're special' or 'you're so truly weird and crazy that no other person comes close to being as bizarre as you' way, he still thought I was one of a kind.

Squee, squee and more squee.

'I need to - um - go now,' Harry said slowly before turning and dashing up the stairs to the boys' dormitories.

Okay, so maybe Harry couldn't play quidditch on Saturday, and maybe we were going to suffer such a grisly defeat that even Madam Hooch would be reduced to tears, and maybe I would have to play Seeker alongside Dean's hippo breath, and maybe Harry and I weren't instantly declaring our love for each other, and maybe my life was pretty crappy and dysfunctional (albeit slightly comical) - but at least I knew that no one on Earth had a life that was as crappy and dysfunctional-albeit-slightly-comical as mine, because I was _one of a kind_.

* * *

**A/N: Yay, fluff and what-not!**

**Apologies for this chapter taking over a month to update but I'm currently in the middle of my exams, and this chapter was written while I was meant to be revising :) Which is why much of Ginny's exam stress and frustration is actually me venting. **

**On the subject of extending this fic beyond the kiss, I have come to the decision, given the length of time that it has taken me to write this chapter, that I _am _going to finish it at the kiss. My exams go on for another month and I don't plan on being in the country much at _all_ this summer, and then I'm off to uni in September, which I'm guessing will mean I will have a lot less time to write :/ If I did try to extend it, the chapters would be months apart and they'd be pretty crappy, and if I did write any more of this I would want to be able to do it justice. I would actually love to be able to extend this, seeing as I have so much fun writing it, but I just don't have the time. Sorry!**

**Which means, seeing as in the HPB book the kiss is literally like a page after the conversation in this chapter, that the end is near...**

**On a less depressing note, we're nearly at 500 reviews! That's absolutely crazy, thank you so much :D**

**On a much happier note, DH Part 2 comes out soon, Starship came out a while ago, it was brill, Joey Richter squee, Dylan Saunders squee, Starkid in general squee, Darren on Glee squee...**

**- SPS**


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